Pandora Sucks!
by Onhiro
Summary: Trudy and Harrison are now trying to make it to Hell's Gate...on foot. They know of the human defeat, but still trudge onwards to a dark future. The question is, will they even make it, or will the Pandoran jungle and its inhabitants claim their lives?
1. Pandora Sucks!

**AN- So, yeah, I probably shouldn't be starting a story right now but I recently saw Avatar, and thought it was a really good movie. However, the one thing that I didn't agree with was the death of Trudy, and the lack of viewpoints on the part of the SecOps personnel. No doubt not all of them shared the gung-ho attitude of Quaritch, and some might have switched sides if given the chance, like Trudy. This story will hopefully explore the period of time after the battle through one of the SecOps troops and Trudy. Reviews would be much appreciated, and I'm willing to incorporate reader thoughts and ideas into the story, if at all possible.**

**Disclaimer (this applies to all further chapters): I do not own nor ever will own James Cameron's _Avatar_.  
**

PANDORA SUCKS

"I fucking _hate_ this goddamn place!" These words were hissed by one Sergeant James Harrison as he wedged himself deeper under the log and the small hole that he had found there. The moment he had seen the Titanotheres charging through the jungle, he had realized that his best chance at survival was to take cover and to not move. Moments late, his decision proved to be the right one, as the hammer-headed monsters crashed through the SecOps firing line like it didn't exist, destroying the heavy AMP suits with ease. Cursing, Harrison reached out and grabbed a light machine gun by its strap and pulled it towards himself.

He was just about to leave his hiding place and follow after his retreating comrades when the sound of growling caught his attention. Wedging himself under the log even further, he watched with a dry mouth as Viperwolves ran over the top of the log and moved into the undergrowth, snarling and barking with malicious glee. Moments later, a new cacophony of screams permeated the air, automatic gunfire getting cut off abruptly. Closing his eyes, Harrison wished fervently for the day to end. Even if they were losing the fight on the ground, they had air supremacy, and the gunships would be coming back for them.

"Fuck!" he snarled as he activated his emergency beacon, hoping that it would get through the flux. Squirming deeper into the almost nonexistent hole, he relaxed, drawing on his Marine training. He knew how to stay still for hours, waiting for the opportune moment to move…to strike. Right now, he faced death if he went out into the jungle, whereas he was relatively safe here. He just had to be patient, he just had to wait. Clearing his mind, he relaxed. Moments later, his trance was interrupted as a Thanatore bounded into the clearing with a snarl. Not unusual in its own right, but the Na'vi who was riding it was definitely out of the norm.

Slowly, smoothly, he drew the light machine gun to his shoulder, and centered the sights directly on the Na'vi's back. Automatically, he regulated his breathing, one breath in, let it half out, finger tighten on the trigger, caressing it to the breaking point, and…

He released. The Na'vi shouted something, and the Thanatore ran off into the jungle, snarling fiercely. He sighed, and lowered the light machine gun. How easy it would have been to kill the native, even if he would have died in the end. He knew full well that the light machine gun wasn't strong enough to kill an enraged Thanatore, but it would have been one less Na'vi warrior in the fight, possibly saving one of his comrades. But he was so sick of the fighting.

His job on Pandora was simple. Provide security for mining operations and scientific expeditions. He had not signed up for genocide, which made him a less than happy participant in what was being called the Battle of the Tree. He scoffed silently. It was no battle, it was a massacre. He was glad that no one else on his Samson had noticed that he wasn't cheering along with them, and he had wished fervently that he had been on the one Samson that had peeled off from the formation and flown back to the base by itself. The screams of rage and fear from the dying would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, as well as the sight of Na'vi being killed by the falling tree regardless of gender or age. He had watched helplessly as a group of children were crushed by a falling limb.

Then word of the Na'vi gathering had circulated Hell's Gate, and not many of the SecOps personnel were surprised. After all, they had pretty much destroyed what was a city. On Earth, that would have elicited a massive counter strike. It was also not surprising that Colonel Quaritch wanted to stamp out the uprising before it swelled to the point where the human camp would be overwhelmed. A lot of the soldiers weren't happy about it, himself included, but you couldn't change the past, might as well do what was necessary to survive. If he survived this fight, he might be able to finish his term and get back to Earth in one piece…he could only hope.

The smell of burning aviation fuel and metal broke him out of his thoughts, and he paused for a moment, wondering what he should do. However, the possibility that there was a crashed gunship nearby goaded him into action, and he finally left his hole. Quickly finding some dead soldiers nearby, he offered apologies as he removed their exopacks and moved off towards where he could see a plume of smoke climbing through the thick canopy of the jungle.

The jungle was silent now, no sounds of battle in the heavy air, and Harrison moved as quietly as he could, avoiding areas that would make noise should he walk through them, such as piles of leaves, Helicoradian plants (which were referred to as 'shoop' plants, due to the sound they made when they withdrew into their tubes) and thickets of brush. He knew he wasn't as silent as a Na'vi hunter, but he was far quieter than humans generally were. He ceased thinking, and instead became as a predator was. Aware of his impact on the environment, and the impact the environment had on him. His breath hissed as he breathed into his expect. The oppressive heat of the jungle clung heavily to his body, sweat running between his shoulder blades and down the small of his back, and the wet patches around his armpits grew with each passing minute.

This he ignored, and instead looked, listened, and felt the environment for any clue that could mean he was being hunted by either Na'vi or one of the many creatures populating Pandora. Despite what he expected, he made it to the crash site without being attacked by anything. Sunlight beamed down onto the burning Samson, the hole in the foliage clearly showing the path the aircraft took on its fatal plummet, and he ran up to the craft, heart plummeting as he noticed the cargo bay was completely engulfed in fire. Then he noticed several oddities. Firstly, the cockpit was filled with smoke, tendrils escaping into the air through several bullet holes that had torn into the canopy, but it didn't look like the fire had reached that part of the craft yet. Secondly, blue and white paint had been smeared across the vehicle, and it looked almost like one of the banshees that the Na'vi rode. Harrison ignored that and quickly unsheathed his knife, using the saw-tooth edge to cut through the thick plastic, going from bullet hole to bullet hole until he had a man sized hole.

He backed away as the smoke poured from the opening, the air inside the cockpit clearing up enough to reveal a female pilot wearing an exopack…he had seen her around the base…Chacon, was that her name? Shaking his head, he climbed into the still smoky cockpit and cut away her harness, and hoisted her out of the smoldering Samson. Getting her to a safe distance from the burning aircraft, Harrison gently lay her down, pressed the clear button on her mask, and after it stopped hissing as the pressure equalized and the condensation on the inside of the mask cleared away he wiped away the soot and other particles that had gathered on the outside of her mask. His heart froze in his chest.

She had face paint on, the same blue and white that was emblazoned on her craft, and several things that the sergeant had been trying to ignore came clamoring to the front of his mind. She was human, so he felt more than obligated to save her, but now there were questions to be answered. Why was she wearing war-paint like the Na'vi? Why was her craft riddled with bullet holes? Why did it look like a missile detonated against the rear of her Samson? Just whose side was the feisty pilot fighting for. Until she woke up, he would be left alone with his thoughts. Making sure that he removed her of her sidearm, he moved slightly into the brush, and made sure to watch her as much as he watched the surrounding jungle. When she woke up, there would be many questions asked, and God help her if she didn't feel like talking.


	2. Welcome to the Jungle

**AN- Sorry this took so long to get submitted. I would have gotten it in sometime late last week, but I had a four day drill with my Reserve unit, so that took up a lot of my time.** **This chapter is in the POV of Trudy, and I think I'm going to switch between the two POVs with each chapter. The next chapter should have more action in it, but hopefully you all enjoy this one. Please review!**

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

When one's last memory is a missile hitting you Samson and a flash of heat as it exploded, it is very disconcerting to wake up to the sound of fire. Trudy Chacon came to awareness with a heaving gasp, lungs straining against the limitations of her exopack, but her skills as a pilot meant she had an amazingly quick reaction time, and she realized that she wasn't inside of her cockpit anymore sooner than many people would have. Instantly, she took stock of her situation.

It was night, and that alone sent a bolt of fear down her spine. Crazy though he was, there was a very good reason why Quaritch didn't have any night missions. Even gunships were restricted from flying at night, much less foot patrols. Without sitting up, she brought her hand up to her throat mike. "Jake, Norm, can you guys hear me?" she asked with a clear voice, despite the fact that her mouth was dry. Nothing but static answered her.

Giving off a colorful burst of curses, she finally sat up, her hand reaching for her holster. Not much, but better than noth-

Ice water coursed through her veins as her fingers found nothing but an empty holster. She had been in a four-point harness when Quaritch shot her down, so what was she doing outside of her Sampson? Someone had pulled her from the vehicle and disarmed her. Question: where the fuck were they? She rolled onto her hands and her toes, dark eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign of humans or Na'vi. Seeing nothing, she moved forward slowly, steadily, eyes constantly moving, her profile crouched and low to the ground. She might be a sky jockey, but she did have _some_ tactical training, and she spent enough time with the grunts to have a few of their skills rub off on her.

She was maybe twenty feet from the tree line when a voice cut through the air, harsh, low, and dangerous. "Stop. Moving." She did so, her eyes flicking over to where she thought the voice had come from, and slowly she began to make out the details. Really, it was the gun that did it. The harsh black shape of the weapon clashed with the bioluminescent flora of the area around it. From there, she could make out the man holding the gun, and she swallowed dryly. Even at this distance, the muzzle of the machine gun seemed massive, a black hole waiting to end her life. Shit.

For once, the smart-mouthed pilot was nearly at a loss for words. She had accepted her death in the sky, but after surviving that, to be faced with death here, _now_…she lightly shook her head. "We seem to be at an impasse," she tried, a wry grin touching her lips.

Evidently the soldier did not share her smartass sense of humor. "No. What we have is what I believe to be a traitor to her fellow humans. Start explaining."

She winced. God, why did she have to be found by a soldier who had to have a stick up his ass? He couldn't be more curt if he tried. Deciding to test her luck, she settled back on her ass and crossed her arms petulantly. "What if I don't _want_ to?"

Honestly, she expected the SecOps dick to flaunt his skill with the gun, shooting into the air or near her in an attempt to cow her. Instead, he answered in a calm and perfectly logical tone of voice. "You'll die."

_That_ gave her pause. She realized several things, all at once. The steel in his voice told her that he was definitely prior military, probably a Marine, and he likely had killed humans before. Secondly, he hadn't told her _how_ she was going to die, just that her time was limited if she managed to piss him off and refuse to do what he said. She didn't even have a knife on her, and she had no doubt that if he came after her with a blade, she wouldn't survive the encounter. The fact that he didn't let loose a burst of gunfire meant that he was smart enough to realize that stealth meant survival. This one wasn't stupid. Therefore, her next reply would decide whether she lived or died.

Sighing in defeat, she began explaining as he had ordered (and that alone infuriated her…a grunt ordering _her_ what to do…whiskey tango foxtrot!) and after thirty minutes, she finished with a heated glare. She didn't betray humanity, she stood up for the best of humanity, dammit! After she finished her impassioned speech, she expected some reaction, but the soldier remained stock still, eyes regarding her, body not moving. After ten minutes, Trudy decided that he _wasn't_ going to respond until he was ready to, and so lay back, looking up to the alien night sky.

More time passed, and the stresses of the battle caught up to her, her eyes growing heavy. "So, the Na'vi weren't going to kill every human?" The sudden question broke her out of her dozing, and she jerked upright.

"What do you think?" she snapped. "Sully was leading them, he wouldn't have them kill all the humans, he just wants this bullshit genocide to stop. What we're doing here isn't right, and you know it!"

"Okay." At that word, the soldier unfolded himself and stood, and Trudy blinked in surprise. She wasn't the tallest example of humankind, and that only helped her in her job…pilots were generally smaller than regular soldiers, because cockpits weren't really designed for large people, too many instruments, panels, and levers. However, the SecOps trooper before her was most certainly not short. He must have been six feet at least, with broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms that glistened with sweat. Had the situation been different, Trudy would have definitely admired the man before her.

_He certainly isn't like most jugheads that you find on base_, she thought as she noticed that he carried himself with military bearing, and that his uniform wasn't altered like many of those on base were. He looked like a Marine, not a merc. Wordlessly, he pulled her pistol out of one of his many cargo pockets, and stared at her with sharp eyes. "The both of us need to work together if we want to get back to Hell's Gate alive." There was no argument, no weakness in his rough voice. He was not trusting her, he was ordering her to take the pistol so that they could both make it back alive. Alone, they died. Together, they just might live. Wordlessly, she took the pistol. He nodded briskly. "Follow me." Before she could reply, he was gone.

Cursing up a storm, she scrambled after him, and received a stinging blow to the head from a fern-like branch. Knocking it out of her way with an annoyed swap, she looked after the disappearing soldier, and blinked in amazement. He was already twenty paces ahead of her, and he moved…he moved like a friggen' predator, not a human. He was slightly crouched, his weapon at the low ready, his head always moving, looking for anything that might be a threat. He moved through the plants with the grace of a dancer, barely letting the leaves and branches touch him. "Who the hell are you?" she asked incredulously, and then flinched when he turned back to look at her. She hadn't been _that_ loud!

"Sergeant Harrison."

She blanched. "Oh." Sergeant Harrison. _The_ Sergeant Harrison. The man was a legend. Currently on his second eighteen month deployment to Pandora, he was famous for leading short and long range foot patrols into the jungles of this deadly world. While he had lost soldiers under his command during open engagements, he never lost a single trooper while he was out on patrol. Everyone who spent any amount of time with the SecOps personnel knew about Harrison. There was even a bet running (no shit, she even saw the collection jar) about how long it would take Harrison to turn into one of the Na'vi. He wouldn't need an Avatar, he'd simply force himself to adapt to Pandora's hostile environment. God was smiling on her. Not only did she survive what would normally be a fatal air engagement (none of the shrapnel hit her and the fire didn't spread to the cockpit, though it really _should_ have…of course, she wasn't cursing providence, and was quite happy to be alive, thankyouverymuch), but she had been found by the most dangerous human on Pandora. Quaritch was frightening and deadly, yes, but Harrison wasn't insane like the Colonel had been.

He was a cold, calculating, and methodical killer. He'd never be an officer, but soldiering suited his talents very, _very_ well. They also made him very disconcerting to deal with. Rumor had it that he ate all meals in absolute silence, and didn't hit the bar on Hell's Gate like everyone else did. When he spoke, it was to suit a purpose and was never just idle chatter. Some of the base personnel speculated that he was actually a high-tec android developed by RDF to replace soldiers, but for the most part, they were joking…she hoped.

"Don't stop moving." Again his rough voice caught her attention, and she bit her lip as she carefully walked along the trail that he had been following. Once more, he didn't bother with asking a question, like 'why aren't you following me' or anything like that, just a short order that was directly to the point. That fact both relieved her and frightened her. Even though she knew that there were far more dangerous things than the Marine before her on Pandora, there was a feeling of Death about the man that could not be named. She shivered, even in the humid heat of the jungle. Harrison was a man to be both trusted and feared. She only hoped that he could get them both to safety…and in one piece…


	3. It Could Be Worse

**AN- Sorry for the delay, I was on vacation down in SC with my family. Anyway, another chapter in the POV of Harrison, where you begin to see what he really thinks of Pandora, though you don't find out why he's such a bad-ass in this one, though the answer to that little mystery should be coming soon...what do you guys think it is? Thanks for the reviews so far, I've really enjoyed them, even if I haven't replied to all of them. I'll try to remedy that with whoever reviews for this one. Btw, I have already incorporated like three things that I read in reviews, so your suggestions/thoughts/ideas _are_ being included in the story. Keep them coming, ladies and gents. Hope you enjoy!**

IT COULD BE WORSE…

Harrison could not help but wince as the small pilot blundered her way through the jungle like a wounded Titanothere. Well…that was unfair. A lot of that was the limp that came with every left step and the pained gasps that punctuated her breathing pattern at regular and shortening intervals. That crash did more to her than she was willing to admit. Fortunately, it was only a thirty minute walk at this pace back to where the heaviest fighting had taken place, and there would be medical equipment there.

Stop. The command that his instincts screamed at him were almost overpowering, and he froze in mid-step, senses kicking up into overdrive. There was something…there! "Stay here," he ordered Chacon, and before she nodded he was moving into the underbrush, naturally moving through the plants, careful not to disturb them more than humanly possible. Moments later, he came upon her, a Na'vi warrior who was wounded very badly…he could tell she was not going to be leaving this place. Soon the Viperwolves would come, and she would not be able to fight them off. "_Oél ngáti kámeie_," he called out the Na'vi greeting gently, and her closed eyes opened in shock and hope before falling upon his form. Then, there was no anger or hatred, just an age old sadness. When one is on their deathbed, they are less concerned with petty wars and more worried about companionship in their last moments.

"_Káme ngát_," she responded, voice faint. "Speak sky people tongue…I see you, warrior." She gasped, and the blood from her torn torso flowed slightly more readily. "Eywa calling, but no weapon to hurry death…_rutxé_…please!"

Silently, he drew his knife and approached her broken form. "May I know your name, so I can carry it until Eywa comes for me?"

Her eyes widened slightly, though if it was from shock or from pain, he didn't know, couldn't judge. "Ti'shaxti," she groaned, a small rivulet of blood escaping her mouth and running down her cheek.

"Ti'shaxti," he repeated, and would remember that name and this moment until the day he died. "_Oéru txóa livú_, _Éywa ngáhu_!" he cried before driving his knife into the massive chest, the razor sharp blade piercing the skin with little resistance, burrowing in under the rib cage and finding the heart, the organ cutting itself up as it tried to beat around the blade of the knife. Ti'shaxti gave one final gasp, one last spasm at the pain before she exhaled mightily, and her golden eyes dimmed. "Forgive me, Eywa be with you," he repeated in English, for Chacon's benefit. Cleaning off his knife, he leveled a fierce gaze upon the pilot who had been peering around a tree. Hopefully the Na'vi warrior hadn't noticed her presence before death. "The next time I say to stay somewhere, I have a good reason!"

"What if you needed cover?!" she snapped in reply, her voice hot and angry compared to his icy tone.

"You would have come with me. From now on, do what I say and _not_ what you want."

"I outrank you, goddammit!" Her reply was fast, seething, and partly hysterical. He knew what was happening. She was coming down off of her adrenaline high from the crash and the shock and pain were taking their toll on her. He could either coddle her into sanity, or he could let the reality of their situation get her back.

"That's what this is?" he asked, words clipped. "You outrank me? Did you even hear the Na'vi as she cried out in pain? Have you even noticed that three viperwolves are trying to decide whether to attack us or feast on her dead flesh? If we followed rank, we'd be dead in an hour! So shut the fuck up and do whatever the _fuck_ I tell you!"

Her eyes were wide, slightly hurt, and more from his tone than his actual words, he knew. Up to this point, he had deliberately using as few words as possible, had kept his distance because he still wasn't sure what to make of the traitor. But now he needed her to be thinking and grounded. She could take time later to adjust, but now they had more pressing matters. "Alright," she finally muttered, and he nodded before leading her towards the battleground again.

He didn't have to stop again, though they went slower than he would like, and he had to avoid four areas where he could hear carrion animals feasting. He didn't want to impact the natural rhythm of Pandora anymore than he already had. It was fifty minutes after the encounter with Ti'shaxti when they finally came upon the shattered firing line, broken bodies and machinery the only remnant of what had transpired here. That and a small pack of viperwolves gorging themselves on the dead. Upon their arrival into the clearing the animals looked up, growling, but when he ignored them, they went back to eating. "Grab a weapon, preferably a sub machine gun from one of the AMP suits…it will be lighter than a standard rifle," he ordered as he dropped the machine gun. He had ignored the weight of it, but it was too heavy for the journey that they had ahead of them.

While Chacon clambered up onto one of the AMP suits, he searched the bodies of his fellow soldiers and found an assault rifle that he quickly slung over his shoulder. It did not take him long to find a total of seven fully loaded magazines for the rifle and he threw them into an assault pack he pulled off a half-eaten SecOps soldier. As thoroughly as he could under the circumstances, he set about searching the dead soldiers for med kits, food, and water, any of which he found went into the assault pack. Once Chacon had her sub machine gun and enough ammo, she quickly followed suit with another pack. It took them an hour from the time that they arrived to get everything that he was willing to wait around for. The viperwolves were willing to ignore him because they had a ready supply of food and he was leaving them alone. Had a large battle not taken place…he shuddered. There were enough critters out there that the odds would have been overwhelming. He'd kill a lot of them, yes, but they get him and Chacon in the end.

"Follow me," he ordered tersely, and led her into the underbrush again. They needed to get to a place safe enough to rest in. They'd need their sleep. Fifty minutes later, his sharp eyes found it, a log that had a hole in its side. He carefully approached it, turning on the flashlight that was attached to the end of his rifle and shining it into the log. They were in luck. The hole was just big enough for him to squeeze through, and it led to a larger chamber that was big enough for both of them to sleep in, though they would have to practically hold each other. He grimaced. It was better than nothing, though. There were also no tenants, and there was no sign that there had been in at least a month.

Wordlessly, he gestured to the hole, and she nodded, stumbling forward. He could tell from her sluggish gait that she was far more tired than he was, though he supposed that was from not being used to walking through a jungle as opposed to flying over it. She clambered up the side of the fallen tree, and slid inside head-first. Before he followed her in, he cut out a piece of bark from the rest of the tree large enough to fit over the hole and positioned it so that he could pull it over the opening after he had gone inside. After one last quick glance around the area, he dropped his gear into the hole and squeezed in before carefully pulling the bark over it.

Reaching into a side pocket of the assault pack, he pulled out a chemlight and bent it before vigorously shaking it, lighting up their small haven. Chacon's eyes were already closed. He shook her shoulder, and her dark eyes opened up, glaring at him blearily. "Lemme sleep," she groaned.

"Take your boots off and change you socks. Drink some water and eat some emergency rations. It's hard to do with the mask, but I'll show you…"

"I know how to do it, asshole," she snapped before grumbling under her breath. Regardless, she did as she was told. They spent a few moments in silence, lifted their masks only to drink or to take a bite of an energy bar like food. That was the one major flaw of the masks…they didn't have a drinking tube or a way to eat without exposing yourself to the toxic Pandoran environment. Once they were done, they both lay down in the uncomfortable confines of their impromptu shelter, and tried to avoid contact with each other as much as possible.

Minutes passed. He thought Chacon had gone to sleep, but then he heard her sigh. "Harrison…why are you helping me? Do you agree with what Jake Sully and the scientists are doing here? Do you think that Pandora is worth saving after all?" There was a moment of charged stillness from her. "What was that thing you did with the Na'vi warrior back there?"

He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. "Ti'shaxti…was a soldier, just as I am. Fighting on opposite sides, and we would have been trying to kill each other as mortal enemies earlier today, but that doesn't change the fact that we are both much the same. She was in pain, and didn't deserve to suffer. I've spent enough time here to remember a time when the relations with the Na'vi weren't so bad, and I pay attention. I know some of their basic rituals and language, so I did what I could to help her. She charged a firing line out of sheer bravery and the need to defend her home and loved ones…she deserved a warrior's death. As for the scientists, I don't give a flying fuck about them, nor what Sully is doing. I'm just not going to commit war atrocities for greed's sake. I hate Pandora, and with a passion. However, I respect her, and the plants and animals on her surface. I'm view myself as a visitor here, even if I have to kill the members of this planet. And Pandora doesn't need saving…she saved herself in the end." He paused again, thinking that this was the most he had talked to the small pilot who had rolled over to look at him, dark eyes dancing under the glow of the chemlight. "We shouldn't have come here like the Spanish Conquistadors did when they landed in the Americas. We should have come here in friendship and brotherhood, not out of greed. Even the scientists are greedy in their own ways. These people are our neighbors, and the egg-heads treat them like very interesting specimen to examine…yes, intelligent, but a lot of the scientific people don't view the Na'vi as equals. I don't have that problem. The Na'vi are my betters on Pandora…I am a guest in their home, and circumstances made it so that I was a hostile one, which I regret…Sully isn't really helping that divide much, though I can't blame him. Maybe once enough time passes, humanity will understand. I don't know, and I don't care. My mission is to get both our asses back to base. Now get some sleep. I don't rest deeply, so if anything tries to come in, I'll kill it before it kills us, so you can sleep deeply. You'll need it, I hope to make it to a substation by tomorrow night."

She didn't argue, and closed her eyes wordlessly. Within a few moments, her breathing was deep and slow, and Harrison set his own breathing into a pattern that minimized his use of the exopack, and allowed himself to fall into a light slumber. They had many miles to go the next day. And hey...honestly, it could be worse...


	4. With Many Miles to Go

**AN- Okay, so, yeah, it was totally not supposed to take this long to update this story, and for that I apologize. College can be a harsh mistress, especially when coupled with military and volunteer firefighter duties (heh...I said duties). In case you can't tell, I'm writing this AN at 0342hrs (3:42 AM) so if I seem a bit loopy that's probably why. A lot of stuff happens in this chapter, and anything that's not really clear will most likely be explained in the next chapter. I hope that you guys aren't TOO cheesed off that it took so long for this chapter to appear, and hopefully you like.**

**READ, ENJOY, and PLEASE REVIEW!**

WITH MANY MILES TO GO…

When Trudy woke up with a gasp, the first thing she registered was a feeling of warmth…and not the cloying heat of the humid air, but the reassuring warmth of someone's arms. For a moment she wasn't sure…had it all been a nightmare? Was she only just now waking up in her bunk after finding someone willing to share her bed?

No. An exopack mask pressed into her face, and she was not laying down in the reasonably soft bed in her quarters at Hell's Gate. No, whatever she was laying on was smooth, though hard and uncomfortable. Where was sh-?

It all came back…bullets ripping through her canopy, her Samson dying around her, a massive concusion, followed by blackness. Waking up in the hostile jungle, being found by _him_, the man who could take pity and yet be merciless, who was harsh and dangerous. She had heard rumors about some of the bone-chilling things Harrison had done while in the jungle, yet instead of killing her once he found out she fought against Quaritch, he instead decided to give her a weapon and lead her back to Hell's Gate through some of the most treacherous jungle in the known galaxy. She shook her head. Later she would have to think more on Harrison, but now really wasn't the time. She sighed, and closed her eyes, suddenly realizing just how tired she was. She worked out, yes, but certainly didn't partake in long ruck marches, for obvious reasons. She was a fucking sky jockey, not a ground pounder.

Right now, she felt exhausted, an ache behind her eyes, and her legs twinged with discomfort. Worst of all was her ankle, which throbbed in pain. Adding to her general discomfort was a million other aches and pains that radiated from all over her body. God, she wished she could just go to sleep for a million-

"You're awake," Harrison said in that deep voice, and Trudy whimpered slightly. _Ah, fuck!_

He shifted against her, and she sat up with a sigh, accepting the inevitable. Silently they prepared, eating and drinking in the same manner as the night before. She was grateful for the fact that the exopacks were rebreathers, and therefore didn't need any oxygen tanks, but it was damned annoying to have to pull the mask off your face to eat and drink, getting the smell and taste of the toxic atmosphere no matter what you did.

The minutes passed by, and slowly the clutches of sleep left her. "What time is it?" It was dark in the log, lit only by glow sticks, and she had no idea if it was midday or midnight.

"Thirty mikes before dawn." He pulled on his boots and tightened them quickly, barely even looking as he tied the laces off. She was about to follow suit when his hand dropped over hers, encompassing it. She froze at the feeling of his rough calluses and his warm skin against hers, and shot him a shocked look. "You need to wrap your ankle, it'll help you walk today." She blinked and watched as he gently removed her sock while cradling her ankle. She could only watch, flustered, as he went about the task with hands that were far gentler than she could have ever expected from him.

He was also as brisk as he was gentle, wrapping her ankle in an ace bandage quickly and tightly, and after he secured the end of the wrap, his hand lingered on her leg, cupping her calf for just a moment before he withdrew and saw to his rifle. She stared at him blankly for a moment, flustered at the lingering warmth that his hand had left behind before bursting into action herself, pulling on her socks and boots and helping pack up their meager supplies. Finally ready to go, she watched as he carefully moved the bark that covered their entrance out of the way before looking around. "All clear," he murmured before pulling himself out of the log. She crawled after him, and was about to do the same when she noticed he was holding a hand down to her.

_Okay, that's it, this has GOT to be a dream!_ With that thought running through her mind, Trudy contemplated pinching herself, but she realized that would keep the Harrison-who-really-wasn't-Harrison waiting, and that was rude, even while in a dream-state. She reached up, and almost timidly placed her small hand in the large hand of the Harrison-who-only-existed-in-her-dreams. It was still warm and felt real enough, and she could feel the strength in his arm as he lifted her up and out of the log with only a small grunt of exertion. Unfortunately, she forgot to tuck her knees in, and her left one bounced against the lip of the hole. The sharp pain that coursed through her body not only reaffirmed her presence in the conscious world, it also hurt like a mother_fucker_!

Somehow successfully fighting the urge to curse, she instead grit her teeth and started counting slowly in her head while controlling her breathing. Harrison set her down on the log next to him, and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder when she almost lost her balance. Thankful, she placed her own hand on top of his until she was steady, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before withdrawing and lightly jumping off of the log. She stared after him for a moment, a fluttering in her stomach disorientating her. _What the _hell_ is going on?!_ her mind wailed as she slid down the side of the log and followed after the sergeant who was making _no_ fucking sense whatsoever. She could understand it when he was being a dick, and could almost appreciate it when he was like that. But…when he was being so attentive and tender, it threw her off her game more than she would like to admit. Shaking her head, she set out, matching Harrison's brisk pace. Twenty steps into the day's journey, she paused, and smiled. Her ankle wasn't bothering her as much anymore.

Four hours later, she wasn't smiling. Instead, she was gasping for air and sweating heavily, her entire body in pain. The hurt grew with each step, concentrating in her claves, upper thighs, and lower back. Her shoulders ached from the straps of her assault pack, and she had stopped begging for the pain to stop a LONG time ago. Now she dumbly placed foot in front of foot as though she were a robot, dead to the world except to where she was going to place her next step. She should be concentrating on her surroundings, watching for deadly animals, but honestly, she just didn't care anymore. It was all just a rhythm, just the same agonizing rhythm that didn't ever end.

Then a hand dropped on her shoulder, and she jerked, nearly jumping clean out of her skin. It was Harrison, and he was looking at her with concerned eyes. "I've told you three times now that we can stop for a break…didn't you hear me?" Numbly, she shook her head, and he focused on her eyes before cursing. He grasped her shoulders and guided her over to a rock. "Sit here with your back against this and breathe as deeply as you can. In through your nose, out through your mouth. If you start seeing black spots, close your eyes and start touching your fingers to your thumbs and keep breathing." Then he was gone, rummaging in his pack.

She started doing as he said, and suddenly realized just how tired she was, how she felt like she was surrounded by cotton, the world distorted and far away. She almost wished she was still walking, because she had found her rhythm, and being broken from it wasn't good. She realized just how hot and stuffy the air was, and desperately wished for things to cool down. Weakly plucking at her flight suit as her head lolled back, she remembered that she wass supposed too beee doing something when those funnny black spots shoowed uppp…

"Hey!" Distant shout, followed by a shake of her shoulders, but everything was so dark and distant, her hands and feet tingling, lips numb. "Dammit, Chacon, stay the hell with me!"

"Sar'nt, I dun feel soo hot," she murmured thickly before the blackness closed over her eyes, a ringing drowning out everything else as she slipped away from the heat and pain of the Pandoran jungle.

She woke to a dull ache in her right forearm. Groaning, she blearily cracked her eyes open. For a moment, the scene above made no sense, but then she realized…she was looking up at one of the floating mountains, barely visible through the foliage. She was lying flat on her back, and she realized her legs were elevated on the assault pack she had been carrying. "Wha'th'fuck happ'nd?" she moaned as world began to spin.

"Dehydration, coupled with hypoglycemia and heat stroke. Chacon, if you start feeling lightheaded or your hands and feet start tingling, you _have_ to tell me. The environment on this planet will kill you just as quickly as any creature can." As always, Harrison's voice was hard as iron, but Trudy thought for a moment that there was an underlying note of worry in it, but she realized that that was probably the result of her current state. Harrison, genuinely worried about her. Hah! "I'll be giving you two 500mL bags of saline, and you're already about halfway through the first one." Sure enough, she looked up, and there was an IV bag hanging above her head, steadily feeding her body much needed liquid through a line that was inserted into her arm. That explained the ache in her forearm. "…mild sedative, so by the time you wake up, you'll be through the two bags. You'll eat then, and then we'll need to push on until we reach the substation. We're a third of the way there."

"'Kay," she mumbled sleepily as she felt the sedatives take effect, and she slipped under again. This time, though, it wasn't a dreamless sleep, it was filled with half-formed images and far-off sounds. Green jungles, red fire, black smoke, Quaritch's gloating face, Na'vi dancing through the shadows, loud voices and laughter echoing through the trees…it was almost a relief when she slowly came out of the realm of sleep…

Only to discover that the laughter and talking she had heard weren't in her dreams, but in real life. Harrison's rough voice was considerably happier than she had ever heard it, and the person he was talking with had too light of a voice to be male. What the hell? She groaned loudly, and cracked open her eyes, only to be met with a fogged up exopack. Mentally cursing, she feebly groped around with her hand, trying to find the pack so that she could clear her mask and actually _see_.

"Stand guard for a moment, Corporal, I need to see to my prisoner." At Harrison's words, Trudy stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped thinking. His _prisoner_?! What the FUCK was that supposed to mean? Ignoring the logical part of her mind that was telling her that she was, in fact, Sergeant Harrison's prisoner, her hand finally found the pack and cleared her mask with a hiss. As she sat up with a growl, she fought a passing wave of nausea and noticed that there was no longer an IV in her arm, and that an emergency blanket was now pooled around her waist. Where before Harrison's consideration would have pleased her, now it just made her angry.

Standing up, she fixed a glare on the approaching SecOps sergeant while trying to hide the fact that the world was spinning. "Prisoner? You muthafuckin' son-of-a-bitch! Last time I checked, you don' give a fuckin' prisoner a goddamn weapon! Jesucristo, you arrogant prick, I outta-!"

"You treacherous BITCH!" It was less the angry shout that made Trudy stop her angry tirade and more the sound of a weapon being cocked. Heart hammering, she turned just in time to see the enraged SecOps soldier before the woman fired. Harrison gave a panicked shout, and Trudy felt the bullet pass, an angry snap past her ear. In a moment of clarity before the impending insanity, Trudy was suddenly glad that her mask had condensed and that Harrison had covered her up in the blanket, or else she might have never woken up, once the madwoman recognized her.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried as she backpedalled, hand flying to her holstered pistol. Before she could undo the snap, her heel caught on a root, and she tripped just as the crazy ass bitch fired again, the bullet hissing through the air where her head used to be. _Ohgodohgodohgod!_ Nothing else was running through her mind than those pleas to a God she was never entirely sure existed as she scrambled backwards through the dirt, hoping that she wasn't about to die. Again, the bitch fired, and Trudy curled into a tight ball as the bullet impacted the ground right next to her head, dirt and stone fragments tearing into her skin from the force of the round. The next bullet would be the one to kill her.

It never came. There was the distinctive crack of fist against flesh, and Trudy watched in shock as Harrison drove his clenched hand square against the other soldier's cheek before tearing the gun out of her hands. Seeing an opportunity, Trudy drew her service pistol, and aimed it at the bitch who almost killed her. "I ain't gonna shoot except in self-defense!" she snapped when Harrison shot her a truly cold and frightening look.

"Oh, like when you betrayed the human forces on Pandora, went fucking native?!" the soldier snapped angrily, and Trudy realized the she recognized the bitch. Hitomi Matsushita, Corporal, one of the few females in the SecOps infantry, such as it were. She was one of Harrison's most trusted soldiers, and had gone out with him on most of his patrols. When Harrison was done on Pandora, she was rumored to be the one to take his place as squad leader for units going on patrols. Harrison punched Matsu in the face in _her_ defense. She swallowed thickly, and lowered her pistol.

"Corporal, what do you think you're doing?" Harrison demanded, voice tight. "I already explained, I am escorting this _prisoner_ to Hell's Gate, where she's likely to be imprisoned and shipped back to Earth for trial. We are humans, we don't kill prisoners without due process of law."

"But that _cunt_ fucking betrayed us, I saw it with my own two eyes! I saw her shoot at Quaritch's assault carrier!"

"Then you can serve as a witness…we are NOT going to execute her!"

"Well, I can't fucking let her get away with what she's done! She's a goddamn savage!"

"Says the person who willingly participated in the massacre of women and children." Harrison's words were quiet, measured, sharper than any sword, and colder than the depths of space.

Matsu blinked and recoiled slightly, but then resumed glaring. "They aren't human!"

Harrison sighed, shoulders suddenly slumped. "If you can use that as a reason for pointless genocide, then you are no longer welcome in any unit I lead." Without any further words, he handed Matsu her rifle. "Leave."

She took the rifle, face stony, and nodded. "She won't reach Hell's Gate alive…not while I'm still breathing."

Harrison shook his head in denial of her words. "Yes. She _will_." Matsu made no reply, simply slung an assault pack onto her back, and melted away into the jungle. For the next ten minutes, neither Trudy nor Harrison moved or said anything. Finally, though, the spell lifted, and Harrison moved to his pack, and pulled a ration bar out of it. He tossed it to her and picked up his own rifle. "Eat quickly, we've wasted enough time. I want to be moving in less than ten. With many miles to go, we don't have much daylight left."

Trudy didn't say anything, but did as she was told. There was a hidden layer of pain in the Sergeant's voice, and for once, she wanted everything to be nothing but business. Twelve minutes later, they were on the move again, and she concentrated on moving quietly more than she ever had before. Partly for the Sergeant's benefit, but also because there was now a new predator in the jungle, and one that scared her more than anything else on Pandora. Previously, her submachine gun had been on 'safe'…now it was on 'fire' and with a round in the chamber. She'd be damned if she was caught unawares ever again…


	5. SNAFU Ain't Got Nothing on This

**AN- So, yeah, I'm actually very pleased with how quickly I got this chapter out, all things considered. The chapter itself is nine words longer than the previous chapter's story content, which amuses me to no end. I worked hard to get this one to a good length, so hopefully you guys like this one. Sergeant Harrison contemplates the happenings earlier on in the day, and we also discover exactly why he is as scary as he is. Thanks so much for all the reviews that I got in the last chapter, they were why I worked so hard on this one. I'll try and respond to every review this time, which is made so much easier if you guys get the chance to sign the reviews. Anonymous reviewers might not get a reply, sorry guys.**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

SNAFU AIN'T GOT NOTHING ON THIS

It was somewhere between midnight and the ass crack of dawn that they finally stumbled upon the waystation. Even Harrison was tired, more tired than he ever remembered being. The night spent in the log he barely slept. He maybe got an hour of good sleep before Chacon woke him up by pressing herself against him, shivering. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, and she pushed herself against him, burrowing deeper into his arms. The rest of the night, every time he began to fall asleep, she'd shift in his arms, and he'd fully come awake. It had been such a very long time since he had had sex that he didn't remember what it was like to hold a woman in his arms. Needless to say, it was a very long and uncomfortable night.

When she woke up, he was glad to get her out of his arms, for fear that she would feel the evidence of what she unknowingly did to him. However, he hadn't forgotten about her injured ankle. When she reached for her boot, he had unthinkingly dropped his hand on hers. He was surprised he had been able to speak coherently while her soft and smooth hand lay under his, but he did, and was given the chance to wrap her ankle. This was a task that he had done hundreds of times before, due to the environment, so he was done quickly, yet…he let his hand linger on her calf, cupping the contour of her muscle, skin smooth save for the stubble from an unshaven leg. Feeling he hadn't experienced in ages fluttered through him, and he truly acknowledged for the first time that Trudy Chacon was a beautiful woman and that he was attracted to her. Silently cursing, he had let her go, and they finally left the log. That was the last chance he had to touch her before they left, and he did, gripping her shoulder and squeezing it in reassurance.

After realizing what he did, he let go of her, and set off at a brisk pace, trying to quell the chaotic emotions within himself. He couldn't forget that she was his prisoner just as he couldn't forget why she was his prisoner. Thus resolved, he began the day's journey. It was going to be a long and painful day, even for him. Though he had said that he hoped to reach the waystation by the end of that day, he really wasn't expecting it. If Chacon was one of his own soldiers and used to long forced marches over very rugged terrain, then they might be able to make it. Of course, there were dozens of factors to take into mind. Distance, weather, enemy forces, flora, fauna…if this was a patrol, he was not only out farther than he had ever been before but the territory was also more difficult than he was used to traversing.

Even as he was scanning the different levels of vegetation around the two of them, he was doing computations. He estimated the time that it would take him to reach the waystation at about eight hours, if he was alone. With Chacon, it was twelve hours, due to the fact that she wasn't conditioned for long marches. Because of the extra time it was going to take, it would be safe to tack on another hour for the necessary periods of rest. So, thirteen hours, not counting any injuries likely to occur, or any enemy or friendly contact. It would be easier to break that journey into two sections. Course of action: keep moving until seven hours had passed, then keep moving until suitable shelter could be found or until Chacon literally couldn't move any further.

The best laid plans go oft awry, evidently. Despite taking a ten minute break every hour, Chacon still managed to pass out after only four hours. It was absolutely terrifying to see her eyes being so detached and unfocused. His heart nearly stopped when her eyes rolled up into her head and she stopped responding. He was so very, very glad that the med kit he had found had IV supplies, and those few moments where he was desperately trying to get a good stick were nerve wracking. It took him two tries, but soon Chacon was getting rehydrated, and he was able to relax, even as he tried to figure out what made her drop. It was difficult enough when he could ask her, but the signs were easy enough to recognize. Pale and clammy skin, cold sweat, rapid breathing and heart rate…classic symptoms of heat stroke, though he was willing to throw in dehydration and hypoglycemia simply because she probably thought that she could tough it through, like so many newcomers to the jungle did. He'd have to set her straight once she regained consciousness.

When she woke up briefly, he was able to tell her what he thought had happened. Most likely she hadn't been drinking enough water during their breaks. Realizing that she needed rest almost more than anything, he gave a mild sedative, and resolved to wait. That was how Corporal Matsushita found them an hour later. At first, he had been overjoyed, because of all the soldiers that had ever been under his command, Matsushita had been the most loyal and capable. With her at his side, their chances for survival more than doubled. Granted, they had started to find disagreements in the way they operated in the last few months, but now was a time that they could overlook such a thing…or so he hoped.

He was no fool, he knew that the young Corporal idolized Colonel Quaritch and the mission that he had issued. She didn't care about the Na'vi at all, despite his respect for them, and it showed in how she talked and acted, especially while out on patrol. She saw them as savages who attacked human interests, he same them as sentient beings defending their territories from foreign aggressors. Had Matsushita come across Ti'shaxti, the best that she would do would be to put a bullet through her skull without ceremony, and the worst that she would do would be move on without doing anything the help the Na'vi warrior. Harrison would put money on the chance that she would do the latter, as much as it pained him to admit it.

He still hoped that she would see reason, and help him get Chacon back to Hell's Gate. In hindsight, he really should have known better. Instead, once Matsushita saw Chacon, she went bat-shit, and tried to off the short pilot. That was probably the hardest thing he had ever done on Pandora, was punching Matsushita in the face. She had never been a lover to him, but was more like a little sister, maybe an apprentice to him, and it hurt him terribly to be put into the position where he had to strike her. That was nothing, however, compared to the pain of having to send her away and seeing the pure, unadulterated hate in her eyes. Not only was she no longer his ally, but now she was going to be actively hunting Chacon, regardless of who or what was in her way. That single-mindedness worked in her favor and to the detriment of her enemies, and he had no doubt that he was either at least an obstacle to her now or at worst an enemy by extension.

True, he was more skilled than she was, but whatever advantage that gave him was undermined by the fact that she controlled the initiative. She would attack when it suited her, she knew where he was going, and she could move faster than he could. He was going to have to constantly be on guard for any traps she prepared, any ambushes she set up…she was going to be more rested than he was due to that fact, again giving her an edge over him. From the waystation to Hell's Gate was about a week's march, taking Chacon into consideration, if they couldn't get a lift from the base. If the Na'vi army pressed onto Hell's Gate, the troops there would have more to worry about than picking up two soldiers out in the middle of the jungle. He'd pick up a radio and keep in contact with the base until extraction was possible, but they would probably be on their own for a while. He was glad that they had made it to the waystation without getting jumped. Speaking of…

"The shower and latrine are in the back, as well as clean clothes. They keep a few sets of each size, and a lot of good socks. You can have first dibs, I need to clean the weapons and restock our supplies." Chacon's relief at his words was obvious, and she mumbled a 'thank you' as she made a beeline towards the latrine door. Within moments, the shower was running, and Harrison shook his head as he pulled the exopack masked off his face and stripped off his sweaty jacket and shirt, glad to get the nearly soaked through garments off of his body.

Sighing in contentment, he sat down at one of the work tables, and simply relaxed for the first time in several days. Exhaustion slammed down on him like a solid wall, and his eyes slid shut. He had meant it when he said that he had wanted to clean the weapons and get more gear from the waystation's substantial supply lockers, but the exhaustion had come out of nowhere…surely it wouldn't hurt to…get some sleep…for just…one…moment…

The sound of a door opening and closing roused him, and he blearily stood up, and turned towards the latrine. He froze, eyes widening in shock. If anything, he was expecting a fully clothed Trudy Chacon to walk into the main area. Oh, God how he wished she had been fully clothed. But she wasn't. She was clothed in nothing more than a towel wrapped around her chest and ending just low enough to be considered decent and her wet hair clung to the sides of her face, framing it, accentuating her beautiful face. She blinked, drawing attention to her dark eyes, and he swallowed dryly. "So, yeah…" she started slowly, biting her lip uncertainly. "I, uh, decided to get out as soon as possible, so that, y'know, you could get a shower quick." She fidgeted with a bundle of clothes that she held tightly, knuckles visibly white even from this distance. "Thought that you'd appreciate that…"

He stood slowly, eyes never leaving the ever darkening face of Trudy Chacon as she began to blush. Her eyes weren't scared, which intrigued him. Instead, they glittered with something that he recognized and acknowledged…and wanted. It was not to be, however, for once he stood all the way up and turned towards her, her eyes left his face and focused on his chest. There was a moment of confusion followed quickly by shock, her face paling rapidly. "Oh, God!" she whispered, voice shaking as the bundle of clothes dropped from her trembling hands before they moved up to cover her mouth. He winced, and looked away, trying to escape her wide eyes, horror easily identified even as tears gathered at the their corners. Sighing heavily, he turned back towards her and spread his arms wide, not hiding the scars that covered his chest in a network puckered flesh, dominated by the perfectly straight and thick surgical scar that completely bisected his sternum down its exact middle.

"All proof that there are things _far_ more terrifying than anything you'll find on Pandora out there," he muttered, voice thick with ancient fear and revulsion as he remembered the one thing he would never deny being scared to death of. Long repressed memories of that _thing_ jumping out of the darkness before clamping on his head, shoving a slimy tube down his throat. He fought the urge to vomit as he remembered the lump of something being transferred from the…the _facehugger_ into his chest and the suffocation of it pressing against his mouth and nose. The pain of waking up to find the med team cutting open his chest with the surgical kit, no anesthetics, the strongest in the platoon holding him down. The medics pulling that goddamn _thing_ out of his fucking chest, still undeveloped but absolutely terrifying in its paleness. _It had been inside his _chest_, goddammit!_

His chest getting closed up and the incision getting cauterized. The order to fall back, to get to a defensible position to hold until the shuttle made its orbit and could send a retrieval boat to pick up the unit. Night falling, the black monsters pouring out of the heavy downpour like so many demons from every direction like nothing he could have ever imagined in his worst nightmares. There had been so many of them, so very many. The exact population of the colony, over one thousand creatures against one platoon of forty-five Marines. He remembered sobbing, crying for happiness that they had figured out what was inside him from some of the bodies they found inside a residential building even as his fellow Marines were screaming as they were torn to shreds or died because they found out far too late that these fuckers had acidic blood. The heavy explosions of the entire battery of long-range ballistic missiles carried by the shuttle pounding into the surface of the planet, each taking out hundreds of the bastards, but not enough…never enough.

They had been pushed back into a commercial building, and one of the things tore through the ceiling before landing on him. He didn't remember what happened next, save for pain as it tore through his body armor with its claws, something shooting out of its mouth and digging into his chest, breaking his ribs, but not punching through them. Screams, loud and more terrifying than anything he'd heard before, all endlessly pouring out of his mouth, not even seeming to pause for breath. Another Marine pulling the creature off of him with a rope, two others chopping it to bits with their guns while another two men were pulling him back into a relatively safe area where the same medics that cut him open before saw to his wounds. He passed out, and woke up in the med-bay of the shuttle as it made rendezvous with the main starship. The platoon had suffered eighty percent casualties before they had gotten pulled out and the entire colony nuked from space, glassing all the buildings and anything that might be lethal. New Madrid was now a sheet of glass over one hundred miles in diameter.

He lost all of his friends on that God-forsaken rock, though made two others in the medics. And they had been on the ground when the fauna of Pandora had gone bug-shit. He had no illusions as to their state right now. In a way, he was almost thankful to the monsters of the New Madrid colony, or _xenomorphs_ as some egg-heads called them. They brought him not only to Death's door, but to the threshold of Hell. His reputation for not being scared was because there was nothing more terrifying in the 'verse than that single day and night. His coldness and efficiency also sprang from that hellish night. The Marines who panicked and ran or became enraged and ran out to avenge their fallen comrades all died. It was the Marines who managed to stay cool, calm, and professional even in those conditions were the ones who survived. He strove to become those men, and slowly went from the skinny, scared private from New Madrid to the cold, ruthless and utterly professional Sergeant Harrison. The xenomorphs were not native to New Madrid, they came from an outside source. That meant that somewhere out there and within the small sphere of human influence, there were more of the bastards. He would be ready should he ever bump into them again, but now his current mission was on Pandora.

He blinked, and shook his head, dizzy and in a cold sweat from the sudden onslaught of memories he had forced into the very farthest recesses of his mind. "Thank you, Chacon," he ground out, trying to sound normal even though his heart was pounding and his throat felt constricted. "I appreciate your speed in getting done in the shower. There's chow that you can prepare or the bunks if you want rest." Without another word, he brushed past the silent and diminutive pilot before stripping and entering the shower, turning the water on to its hottest temperatures, trying to purge the memories from his body with the scalding spray. His attempts were in vain…


	6. Fuck This Shit!

**AN- Well, this took WAY longer than it should have, and for that I apologize. Damn writer's block. For those of you still following this story, thanks much for the patience, and I'm sure that you writers out there know just how e-vile writer's block can be. Doesn't help that we've been renovating my kitchen for the past two weeks, which means tearing up the entire floor (three layers of flooring, actually) and tearing down the ceiling. Right now I can see the base boards of the roof when I look up and the basement through the cracks in the floor. Crazy stuff. Finally sat down and finally got this chapter done, and I know a bit of the next chapter, so hopefully it comes faster. Maybe within two weeks? No promise, though. Anyway, once again, thanks for the patience, and some of the suggestions I have seen in the reviews will definitely be appearing in the next chapters, so if you have an idea you'd like to see put down, just send me a review or private message with it, and I'll see what I can do about it.**

**READ, ENJOY, and PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Hey, would you look at that, a revision! Holy crap, this is the first time I've actually revised something, and damn if it didn't really need it. Not much has changed, but in this one, Trudy fights back. I've misrepresented her character into someone weaker than she actually is, and I doubt someone capable of apologizing while flying an exploding Samson would not fight back if someone started to choke them.**

FUCK THIS _SHIT_!

Trudy sat at the small table, blankly looking at the plate of food in front of her as she listened to the shower running. She had been starving while in the shower, but now she couldn't make herself eat. Every time she tried to take a bite, the image of Harrison's scarred torso would flash to the front of her mind, killing her appetite. Not because she was disgusted…she had spent a lot of time as a Medevac pilot and had seen some things that would make Harrison's scars seem positively tame. No, instead she couldn't help but feel for the sergeant…what the hell did he go through to receive those wounds? Her first thought had been torture based on the sheer number of the scars, but then she realized they were claw wounds, save for the surgical scar and one that looked like something had taken out a plug of his skin.

But it wasn't that that kept her from eating, it had been the look in Harrison's eyes. Ancient terror, mixed with a darkness that scared her. It hadn't just been a deadly animal that did that to him, it had been something more, something vastly more terrifying than she could probably imagine. The last time she had seen someone with anything like that expression, it was after a long haul before night missions had been cancelled. An entire platoon had been torn apart first by a Thanator, and then by viperwolves, save for one trooper who had been in the gunner seat of one of the Swan trucks. He had used up most of the turret's ammo on the Thanator, and could only watch as the viperwolves surprised and then killed and ate the troops on the ground. He was one of the few soldiers to be sent back to Earth before his term was up, simply for psychological damage. She had been the pilot to pick him up, been the person to see the empty darkness that had existed in his eyes. And that poor soldier's eyes were nothing compared to what she just saw in Harrison's eyes. She shivered even as she felt a pang of sorrow and sympathy for Harrison. Who knows what other horrors he had seen, what other things he had needed to do to survive.

She poked the food with her spork, lost in thought. Where before her thoughts had generally concentrated on her odds for survival or how Harrison effected said odds, now she was actively worried for him, and not as a means of whether or not he'd be fit enough to get them to Hell's Gate. He had demonstrated very well that he was capable of getting them through shitty situations, and if his record spoke for him, he'd be able to get them through even worse scenarios. No, now she was worried for him because she genuinely cared for him, even if it was just a small part of her. She might be a snarky wise-ass pilot, but she still had some maternal instincts hidden away somewhere, and now they were clamoring for attention.

"You should eat, you know…you need to regain your strength for the next stretch." Harrison's deep voice caught her by surprise, and she jumped. As she whirled around to face him, he continued. "I'm going to try and contact Hell's Gate over the radio, and hopefully they'll be able to spare a Samson to come and pick us up." His voice was measured and sane, unlike just before he went into the shower, and his eyes were calm now. She bit her lip and looked away. There was still a darkness there, hiding beneath the surface.

"Right," she murmured, and forced herself to eat a few bites, fully aware that Harrison was still watching her. After she managed to chew and swallow the fifth bite she took, he turned and made his way to the comm center. Knowing that he was serious when he told her to eat, she continued to force herself to take in the bland military rations even as he picked up a headset and entered a frequency into the long range radio.

"Mother Goose Six, this is Wraith Shadow One, do you copy, over." Harrison waited a few moments, but to no avail. There wasn't an answer. Trudy watched as Harrison muttered something under his breath and entered a new freak into the radio. "Fox Trot Six, this is Wraith Shadow One, do you copy, over." Again there wasn't an answer. Now cursing outright, Harrison plugged in a third freak. "Wolf Rider Two, this is Wraith Shadow One, do you copy, over!" Nothing answered him but faint static.

Trudy swallowed the sticky lump of tasteless but nutritious mush that had the consistency of paste. "Mother Goose is the command center…who else are you trying to reach?"

"Fox Trot is one of the security units, and Wolf Rider is another patrol type unit that generally shadows the mining equipment, puts up perimeters and that sort of thing." He sat back in his chair and groaned. "Fuck it." He fiddled with the control panel, and Trudy could see that he selected all frequencies. "This is Wraith Shadow One, performing radio check, can anyone hear me, over."

"-ey're everywhere, second squad, lay down suppressive-!"

"Third platoon, keep them from rolling through that breech, I need heavy-!"

"-the fucking hell, here they come, keep up the…_GYYYYEEEEAARRGHHH!_"

"Oh, GOD, they just got killed the Ell-tee! Keep firing, keep fir-!"

"-too many, we can't hold them! Fuck this shit! Fuck you all!"

"They're taking prisoners…my God, they're taking prisoners, surrender while you still-!"

"Any of you fuckers who surrenders will be shot on sight, you hear me, you _hear_-!"

Trudy could only stare at the radio in shock as the last transmission was cut off by a burst of gunfire. More transmissions came in, but they all were the same. Messages of a desperate battle…a _losing_ battle, and no one cared about two individuals stuck out in the middle of the Pandoran jungle. Harrison drew in a deep breath, and she could see his arm muscles tensing. "So…no pickup, huh?" she asked, a humorless grin twisting her lips. She was almost beginning to miss plans that involved martyrdom.

Harrison's hands gripped the table so hard that the metal creaked. Just when she expected him to lose it, he let out a great sigh and visibly relaxed. "No, Chacon, there won't be a pickup. We're going to have to hump it. Eat well and hydrate. We'll actually have hydration packs to go with our exopacks this time, so we'll be able to drink while on the move. Can't change the eating scenario, unfortunately, but the electrolyte powder mix should help keep us on our feet. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"Can't we just stay here?"

He shook his head. "Negative. Not only are the supplies here extremely limited, but Matsushita also knows where we are. We're alone out here, and while this place does have blast shields for the doors and windows, we need to keep moving. She won't be able to get in, but she'll be able to wait in ambush and trap the surrounding area. If she only has a night, she won't be as prepared. Continue eating, I'll start cleaning the gear and I'll also start packing for tomorrow."

Trudy nodded, but bit her lip before uncertainly looking up to the tall sergeant. "That scar…the one that looks like a plug out of your skin…what _caused_ that? All your other scars are easy enough to identify, especially for a Pandora veteran, but…" she paused, uncertain how to continue. Harrison stilled, his face going stony and his eyes became hard as flint. She shifted nervously and looked away. "Sorry for asking, really, I just…I want to know."

"Well…when an alien life form tries to perform amateur heart surgery with its mouth, the results can be rather…drastic." Surprised at the slightly humorous lilt to his voice, she looked back at him, and sure enough a small smile gathered at the corners of his lips. Then she saw the darkness in his eyes boiling close to the surface, and she realized why he made the joke…it was a coping strategy. Morbid humor to keep the madness at bay. It wasn't funny, nor would it ever be, but he had almost no choice but to joke about it. Yet another stark reminder that Harrison was broken, but had been broken so long that he had his own twisted coping strategies so that he could function in life and as a Marine. To 'fix' him would take time that neither of them had, and frankly, Trudy didn't know if Harrison _wanted_ to be 'fixed.' But…she _could_ comfort him. She could bury that darkness just a bit deeper, take it away from his eyes, even if only for a moment.

Slapping her palms against the table, she stood abruptly. "You know what? Fuck this _shit_!" she sneered. "We worked our asses off to get to this place, we need some R&R."

"Oh, really?" Harrison asked, voice dry. "And how exactly are we going to have R&R while we're in the middle of the Pandoran jungle while our only link to safety is being overrun by the Na'vi army?"

Her only reply was to take off her tank top. Smirking at how Harrison's eyes sharpened and his breathing grew just a bit deeper, she gestured at her braless chest. "Come and get it, soldier boy," she beckoned, tone as sultry and throaty as she could make it. There was a blur of movement, and she was slammed against the table hard enough to jar her but nor hard enough to hurt, and the clatter of her food tray hitting the floor registered somewhere in the back of her mind. Really, she was more transfixed with the feeling of Harrison's hard and heavy body pressing against her, pinning her to the cool metal of the table, the feel of his mouth pressing insistently against hers, and the feeling of his callous roughened hand squeezing her breast.

She gasped at the speed of his pounce, and he took that as an invitation, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting like peroxide and mint, and she was grateful he had taken the time to brush his teeth. Not to be outdone, she kissed him back, refusing to be the passive party in this. Their tongues danced against each other, both vying for dominance, and Trudy felt a thrill run through her that she hadn't felt in a long time. A lot of the guys back at Hell's Gate were certainly interested in a one night stand, but a good deal of them she didn't want to have anything to do with, and those that were left were either too timid (Norm Spellman's face flashed briefly to mind, but she banished it with annoyance that was also coupled with concern…hopefully Norm lived through the battle) or were too self-centered to care about her needs. However…Harrison's mere touch was enough to give her tingling skin…what was going to happen when they were actually having sex?

Before she could think about that any longer, Harrison broke their kiss and straightened, cursing up a storm. Trudy was used to the swearing, just cart around Marines long enough and you learn curses that would make the devil's beard curl, but Harrison sounded _pissed_. "What?" she asked, brushing some hair out of her eyes nervously. "What's wrong?" Harrison didn't answer, instead he hit a button on the main console, and the blast shields over the windows and the door began to lower. Realizing what he was doing, Trudy almost thanked him for the privacy and protection he was giving them. Before she could utter a syllable, his hand snapped around her throat and squeezed. "K-kkhh!" she hissed, spittle flying from between her clenched teeth as she tried to talk, tried to understand what was going on as her face turned a deeper and deeper red with each passing second. Panicking, her hands flew to his arm, her nails digging into his flesh and drawing blood as she looked up into his enraged eyes.

"Die, _bitch_!" he roared at the top of his lungs as his free hand clenched into a fist and rose high in the air, and she followed its descent as it headed straight for her face. _OhgodohgodI'mgoingtodie!_ she wailed in her mind, and then something went click. Her hands released their hold on Harrison's arm and fisted together before slamming down on Harrison's elbow, breaking his grip on her throat. Knowing that if she gave him the chance, he'd overwhelm and kill her, she sprang into the offensive. Her hands cupped and clapped against his ears, and he shouted in pain, backing up a step before her foot lashed out and caught him squarely in the balls. There was the thud of the blast shields closing, but she paid them no mind as she prepared to punch him in the face. Before she could throw her punch, Harrison burst into movement, and she was reminded that he was bigger, stronger, and better trained than she was as he blocked her attempts to strike him and wrapped her in a bear hug. She continued to struggle, and only became aware of the fact that he was shouting something over and over again. Finally his words registered through her rage and fear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean what you think I did! Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

Once she stopped struggling, he was gone, and she slipped back into a defensive stance. "You bastard!" she snarled, voice hoarse, and she began to cuss him out in Spanish, but stopped, shocked. Harrison was leaning over the small sink, throwing up nothing more than stomach bile, retching again and again. What the fuck?

Finally he stopped, and lifted his shaking hands before looking at them in abject horror. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, but she's probably watching, and if she thought we were having sex she'd not even hesitate to kill us. I'm sorry!" he repeated, not meeting her eyes as he turned around and slumped against the wall. "I had to…I _had_ to…if I didn't she'd show no mercy, oh God I'm so sorry!"

Disgruntled, Trudy pulled her shirt back on and tenderly probed around her neck. To her surprise, it wasn't terribly sore, and she realized that he had put just enough pressure to make it look real without the ability to cause bruises. Her eyes flicked to the the gouges she had dug into his forearm with her nails. They were bleeding well enough to have tracks of blood running down his arm, and he paid both wounds no mind. Now that she had calmed down some, she realized that what he said was true, as much as it pissed her off to say it, though it helped that he hurt himself more putting on the show than he had hurt her, and that she had hurt him pretty badly. She might have won, had she landed her next blow. She might have beaten _Harrison_. "Okay. Explain exactly why you attacked me, and intelligently, not all panicky."

Harrison nodded, still not looking at her, and began to breathe deeply and evenly, though his skin remained pale and sickly looking, even more so in the fluorescent lighting of the waystation. After a few minutes of controlling his breathing, he clunked his head back against the wall of the sink, eyes closed. "The only way we're going to be able to make it back with Corporal Matsushita hunting us is if she holds back out of respect for me. If she thinks that I'm having sex with you, she'll think that I went native, and she'll kill us both. The way I reacted will hopefully make her think that you were seducing me and I fell for it but then snapped out of it, and attacked you in retribution. She can read lips, so if she was watching she'll have seen how I shouted out. We can only pray that she fell for it, but _God_ I wish I didn't have to do it. That brought back memories I never wanted to relive…" he groaned, and Trudy snorted.

"Why, you used to beat on women?" she asked, tone snarky.

"No," he replied, a tinge of anger coloring his words. "My dad did." He paused, brow furrowed in pain. "He was an abusive alcoholic, and one night when I was just seven years old we were eating dinner, and for no reason he walked away from the table, got his crowbar, came back, and beat my mother to death with it while I was watching them. I expected to be next, even at the age of seven, but he didn't come after me. He went into the bedroom, got his shotgun, put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger." He shuddered, skin visibly crawling. "That was just the terrible end of a very long and painful series of attacks by my dad. I'm glad the motherfucker killed himself, though he should have suffered more." He stopped talking, running his hand through his short hair. "God, I'm so sorry I had to do that, but if I didn't we'd both be dead before we knew it."

"You can stop apologizing now," she snapped, but then continued, voice soft. "I forgive you, so long as you never do it again."

Finally, he looked at her, eyes sharp and angry. "One of the men under my command was abusive against women, and when I caught him in the act I hit him in the head so hard his eye popped out of his skull. The one thing I hate the most in the world is abuse against innocent women, and I hate myself so bad right now I can't even describe it!" he snapped, voice acidic. "The look in your eyes…I'll never forget it for as long as I live, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again."

She drew in a deep breath, and smirked. "Well, I'm talking to you right now, right? Sounds like you got hurt more than I did…hell, I was just about three seconds away from unleashing my secret attack," she laughed, even though her heart was still beating fast and she was instinctively more frightened of the tall sergeant now. "Listen…I think I'm going to go to bed. You should look at those scratches…God knows they can get infected in this environment."

Harrison simply nodded, and she walked past him towards the bunks, half-prepared to unleash an attack if he lunged at her, but he stayed still, eyes closed again. Before she entered the dark bunk room, his voice stopped her. "Chacon…you did a good job at fighting back. Keep that fighting spirit, and we'll make it." She paused by the door, not sure of what to make of that. She settled on a nod before slipping into the room. Once in the bunk room, she quickly dressed down to a more comfortable level and hit the sack. Though she was exhausted, she lay awake for more than an hour, replaying Harrison's attack. Now that she wasn't panicking, she could remember not hate towards her in Harrison's eyes as he 'choked' her but a hate that was directed towards himself. The difference was difficult to detect, but it was there. Finally drifting to sleep, she heard him puttering around the main room, cleaning weapons if she was hearing things right. The last thing she remembered thinking was that she needed to give him a different face to replace her scared one the next day. Her sleep was very uneasy that night, but she didn't wake up when Harrison finally came into the room to catch some sleep himself.


	7. One Shot, One Kill

**AN- Well, I have to say that it's somewhat a blessing to be stuck on a train for five plus hours. Banged this entire chapter out today, and hopefully it's up to my fans' high standards. This chapter views Harrison's military past in between his time on New Madrid to Pandora. So far I have to say that I'm proud of my ability to continue producing longer and longer chapters, though this one doesn't quite have the same jump that the last chapter did. No matter. I'll continue doing my best to bring better chapters to you each time. Nonetheless, I hope all my readers enjoy this chapter, and I look forward to what feedback I'll be getting from you folks.**

**READ, ENJOY, AND PLEASE REVIEW!**

ONE SHOT, ONE KILL

Two hours of sleep. When was the last time he had gone for so long with so little sleep? He couldn't remember. He felt like throwing up, felt an itch behind his eyes, and he longed for nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep for the rest of eternity. He couldn't, though. His was a life of nightmares, and Chacon's face after he attacked her was simply one more to add on to the list. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he gathered up the assault rifle he had carried to the waystation as well as its magazines. Chacon was still sleeping, and he had no intention of waking her, not yet. He could get them ready without her help, and even though he needed sleep, she needed sleep more than he did. He could will himself to push forward through pain and exhaustion, but he was pretty damned certain that she couldn't. He stepped up to a side door leading to the waystation's armory and stared at the keypad that was dimly glowing. After an annoyingly long period of blankness, he finally reacted, typing in his passcode. It was getting hard to remember the little things that had been drilled into his mind since his arrival to Pandora. Not a good sign…

The keypad flickered yellow before glowing a solid green, and the pneumatic locks on the heavy door hissed before opening. It was relatively easy to break into the station itself, but the arms room was far more secure, preventing any thievery by the Na'vi or by anyone who wasn't at least a sergeant. Not that any of his fellow men on Pandora were wanting for weapons and ammo, but he supposed it was the principle of the matter. Entering the room, he carefully placed the assault rifle next to its brothers on the rack. As per doctrine, there were at least five empty spaces on each of the weapon racks so that units could lock up arms when they weren't necessary. Yes, it had been five long years since weapons were _not_ needed, but that was besides the matter. He wasn't concerned with that. His only concern was choosing a weapon to replace the hardy assault rifle. Bleary eyes scanning over the different types of weapons, it didn't take too long before he was standing before a weapon rack that was farther in the back, almost ignored in light of the flashy assault rifles and machine guns.

It was not surprising that most of the men and women on Pandora ignored sniper rifles as a viable means for armament. It was far easier to kill the monstrous creatures of Pandora with a hail of bullets rather than one well placed shot…especially if you would not likely get a second shot should your first not be placed properly. Harrison knew all that, knew it extremely well. After all, before he became a squad leader, he was a renowned sniper, particularly back on Earth. His specialty was being a scout sniper, or at least it was after New Madrid. That had been the first step he had taken on the path of hardening his resolve. He was a naturally good shot, and had built upon that. From Private to Private First Class, he volunteered for mundane training that was generally skipped by the more high speed Marines, but it was what he wanted. Over the three years spent in training, he pushed himself harder than anyone else, yet turned down chances to go onto things better than leg infantry. Yes, his determination and will to better himself did catch the attention of command, but he didn't want to go to Officer Candidate School; he didn't want to become a Pilot; yes, Mechanized Infantry was exciting, but this was what he wanted.

He _wanted_ to get up at zero-dark-thirty on his lonesome and do PT before the rest of his unit woke up to do PT, and then do PT with them no matter how tired he felt. Constantly push to be better, there was no other life for him. Threw himself at the training, never resting until every task he was given was done, and if others still needed help, he helped them. He took extra classes when he had the chance, to the consternation of his comrades and the admiration of his superiors. When his buddies realized that this scarred PFC with haunted eyes wasn't going to let up, they stepped up the pace as well, and soon they were the best platoon in their entire Battalion. It went further than that, though. When he wasn't actively training, he was requesting for time at the range, first just using iron sights until he was scoring a perfect forty every single time. At first he was content with just that, shooting in any type of weather at any time of day. The mechanics of shooting ensnared him. Here was something he could lose himself in. Where before he still had nightmares even while awake, this chased that away. He wasn't even shooting at the monsters, even within the deepest and darkest parts of his mind. He fully enjoyed dropping targets to the point where they weren't anything more than just that: they were just targets.

Of course he was being watched. New offers came up, never taking him away from his training unit. An offer to be promoted to Lance Corporal? Taken. Would you like to be one of the secondary instructors for Basic Rifle Marksmanship? Where do I sign, sir? This was his second talent, one not really granted while he was a private. The ability to instruct. He found it fascinating to take new Marines and teach them how to reach out and touch things with a bullet. He wasn't always successful, of course, but no one ever was. Some Marines either didn't want to learn or couldn't learn, but he gave it his all, and that's what they were looking for. And, as always, he was pushing himself still further. Soon he was no longer part of his old unit, and he was encouraged to do PT on his own, and didn't have any further training that he didn't initiate himself. A test, he would recognize later, to see how he reacted when given free rein. Years later, he would wonder if he scared his watchers. He gladly took on different styles of rifle marksmanship, including both serious MOUT (Military Operations, Urban Terrain) training, a necessity on Earth with her sprawling cities and long range engagement with accurized rifles. MOUT was interesting and certainly high speed and a challenge for him, even with his harsh PT standards, but it was the sniping that he fell in love with. His first long range hit had been a five hundred meter shot with a standard issue sniper rifle, and he still remembered the stillness of the moments before the shot and the sheer joy after the shot as the target popped down, and then popped up, a marker on its center mass showing the fruits of his training. Over the course of some months, his self-imposed training switched from an even split between sniper work and MOUT to a schedule that heavily favored sniper work. He must have shot tens of thousands of rounds during the duration of his being a Lance Corporal. He didn't even really notice when he no longer was training other soldiers but was mainly on the rifle range, practicing, practicing, practicing. Finally, the offer came.

Scout Sniper. Now, it wasn't 'can you shoot' but 'can you _hide_ and shoot?' A solid two months of the hardest training he had ever been through, and his graduation and promotion to Corporal came just in time for Venezuela. _That_ had been a dirty little war. He didn't win any medals, nor did he want any. He didn't get wounded, which was a small blessing. Instead what he did was hunt. He hunted man, and he was _good_ at it. Not the best, to be sure, but he was damn good. Didn't do anything heroic, like bounce entire battalions to save cut off companies, no, that was what other snipers did. He simply did just a little more than was expected of him. Orders: go find and kill a Venezuelan Colonel up in the mountains. Easy enough. He spent two weeks in the mountains on his lonesome, with barely any radio contact with anyone, hunting the Colonel. In the end, he came back after killing the Colonel at a range of 852 meters as well as a Captain and two Lieutenants on the way out. Most of his missions were like that. His only distinction was being promoted to Sergeant towards the end of the war, and after the fighting ended and he was sent back stateside, he was honorably discharged on account of 'his service to these United States and the protection of world stability.' Rhetoric only, really. The Marines were thanking him for serving, but they were downsizing. The rhetoric was appreciated, but he knew what was going on: '.' At least he got paid for his service, and was on semi-retirement pay, seeing how he wasn't allowed to finish his career. His record allowed him to be placed in the NYPD, where he made his way up the ranks, slowly but surely. If it wasn't for Pandora, he'd probably be the SWAT team leader or something by now.

But…Pandora did in fact happen. Unobtanium. A power source so potent it might be the catalyst to save the dying Earth, and the reason why the Na'vi were being treated the way that they were. Humanity had tried to be civil with the tall blue-skinned natives, but they hadn't cooperated, and now humanity was pushing hard. They needed unobtanium to survive. They _needed_ it, period. If a primitive society had to be wiped out for that to happen, then a primitive society was going to be wiped out. Such a recurring theme in Earth history, and now it was being repeated in other star systems. Harrison understood this, and had understood it when Quaritch himself had called him, personally asking Harrison to go to Pandora. Harrison had served directly under the Colonel, and greatly respected the man for not only his compassion towards his subordinates (hidden though it was behind the steel wall of honor and duty) but also for the fact that Quaritch was willing to do everything he asked of his troops and more. Quaritch was an excellent commander, and was up until the day he died. Quaritch was simply the wrong man to be in charge of military operations on Pandora, though if one thought of it, he served with distinction all the way until the end.

That was the reason why Harrison gladly agreed to join the expedition to Alpha Centauri. Quaritch knew he was a good scout and would be a good squad leader, so he made the call himself and got Harrison on board. It was pretty much as Harrison expected, Pandora was. A different type of terrain than he was used to, but he went out on every patrol he could so he could learn. While Dr. Augustine was trying so desperately to win the hearts and minds of the Na'vi, he was learning from them, watching how they moved, how they avoided contact with the meaner fauna that lived on Pandora, and how they killed the rest. When the humans and the Na'vi had been friendlier, he had implored of his men that they pay attention to the Na'vi, learn from them as much as possible. Some of his soldiers listened, other didn't, the same as when he was a Lance Corporal on the rifle ranges. Yet eventually, hostilities broke out, and the learning ended. His weapons were different and his prey was different, yes, but he was still hunting as he had in Venezuela.

Quaritch recognized that and supported Harrison and his teams as much as he could. Harrison lifted the ten pound (Earth weight) rifle from its place in the rack, and quickly cycled the bolt. Quaritch. Even though he disagreed with the man's tactics towards the end, Quaritch would ALWAYS have his respect. For five years the man had fully supported the scientific and humanitarian needs of Doctor Augustine, fully supported the efforts to make peace with the Na'vi. Harrison knew more than one distinguished commander from Venezuela who wouldn't have bothered, they would have gone on an eradication campaign versus the Na'vi. Use nukes against major population centers and then gunships and overwhelming force against anything still alive. Quarantine the planet. It would possibly have been more cost effective than the scientific approach. However, the more hostile the Na'vi became, the more Quaritch saw them as enemies, and like all great military leaders, Quaritch was fully ready to use overwhelming force. It was as the saying went: peace through superior firepower. Any enemy will be defeated with the proper application of absolute and overwhelming force.

Some no doubt thought of Quaritch as a war criminal for attacking the Home Tree the way he did, but in a lot of ways, it was a sound military strategy, much like the bombing campaigns conducted during the second World War. Women and children died then, too, hell, even entire cities were destroyed. If anything, Quaritch didn't do a good enough job when he failed to pursue and destroy the Na'vi, failed to deny them the chance to regroup and rearm. If anything, Quaritch wasn't harsh enough with the Na'vi. Granted, Harrison hated seeing the Na'vi children being killed, but that was oftentimes the price of war. That was exactly why he would have continued following Quaritch to the bitter end…in fact, in many ways, he HAD followed Quaritch to the bitter end. He didn't know if the Colonel was still alive or not, but the gunship he had been in was destroyed, so it wasn't likely that he still drew breath. A shame, no doubt, but also an extreme victory on the part of the Na'vi. Without Quaritch, the human response to the battle was going to be delayed by ten years or more, but it was coming. Harrison didn't think he was going to be alive to see the human return, but he feared for the Na'vi, having learned to respect them and feel some compassion for the natives. Human kind wasn't going to be stopped by one lost battle or the loss of their main base of operations. If anything, this lost battle could signify the opening of the flood-gates. The Na'vi wanted a war? Well, let us give them one.

Harrison would not be surprised if Earth resorted to nuclear weapons, or if they decided to make a wholly military installation in the plains of Pandora, with no way to stealthily approach the base, either in the air or on the ground. Fill it with anti-air assets, as well as maybe a division of Marines, with artillery support and a great deal of air support and armor units. Titanotheres were frightening, yes, but when faced with 120mm cannons and artillery barrages, even the biggest and baddest of fauna on Pandora would be destroyed. Unless Jake Sully planned on somehow making peace, the Na'vi were going to be destroyed, so long as the humans played it smart. One of the leading military doctrines Harrison knew of was 'strategically offensive, tactically defensive.' Get a unit capable of defending itself and get it deep into enemy territory to a good spot, like on a large hill, at a river crossing, something of the like, and dig in. The enemy will HAVE to engage you, because if they ignore you, you can rampage around their backfield. You have the initiative, you've chosen the site of the battle, and you can just let the enemy forces throw themselves at you. A viable military strategy since the days of the Romans, and when you have modern weapons versus an enemy still equipped with bows and arrows and without any sort of known artillery systems, you are going to win. A simple military FACT. Harrison picked up one of the heavy rounds for the sniper rifle, a bullet not quite as big as a fifty caliber, but specifically manufactured to be more accurate and do almost the same amount of damage. A good round for Pandora. The Na'vi had already lost the war. The only thing yet to be determined was the body count. He pulled the bolt back, and dropped the round into the open chamber before snapping the bolt forward. "One shot, one kill," he whispered as his finger barely tapped the trigger. Finger pressing the bolt release, he pulled the bolt up and back before catching the unfired round before it hit the ground. One shot, one kill, the sniper's way. He hadn't been a sniper in over five years, but he would be, once more, for the preservation of his life and of the lives of any humans he might encounter.

Wordlessly, he collected two hundred rounds of ammunition and the correct ammo pouches for the long and heavy round before quickly grabbing a revolver like the one Quaritch used and a couple boxes of ammo for the handgun before leaving the arms room, leaving it open for Chacon, should she so desire to change her weapon load. He needed to check over the rifle and make sure it was ready for use, as well as set it to the correct zero. That was one good thing about these waystations. All weapons in them were set to a mechanical zero, and he had his personal zero for every weapon found on Pandora memorized. Without having to fire a single shot to verify, he already knew that he'd be able to get hits in out to a thousand meters, though it was highly unlikely he'd be seeing targets out that far. But now, he had one single advantage over Matsushita. Range. Now all he had to do was gain control over all the other aspects of a military encounter. He wouldn't tell Chacon this, but now getting to Hell's Gate was a secondary objective. His primary objective? Engage and neutralize the best soldier to have ever served underneath his command, the woman he loved like a daughter and respected as a fellow professional soldier. _Good God in heaven, forgive me for the shooting that I'm going to have to do in the next few days, and grant me the strength of spirit to do what must be done._ Now, as always, there was no reply, no sense of peace, and for a moment, Harrison felt ill at the thought of what he asked God to help him do, but he lacked any other choice…and he _hated_ himself for that. _I'm going to willingly take the step to go from being a soldier to being a murderer_. The thought was unsettling, and to clear his mind of the guilt, even if only momentarily, he began to pack for the march that was coming soon. It would take at least a week to make it to the next waystation, and he sighed as he stuffed emergency rations into a rucksack. _One shot…one kill_. The words no longer offered comfort.


	8. Once More Unto the Breach!

**AN- So, yeah, after being told by one of my reviewers that I had severely disappointed them with the way I was portraying Trudy, I went on a revising spree. I admit that I was doing a poor ass job portraying Trudy Chacon as the cool as ice and tough as diamond girl that she really is. That in mind, I revised this chapter as well as 'Fuck That Shit!' For anyone who was disappointed in how Trudy reacted to Harrison's attack, you should totally check it out. She turns on her butt kicking ability, to say the least. Anyway, yeah, hopefully this is better than the first version, and I'm working on the next chapter already. I also have an idea of where this story is going to end, and it should be within the next three or four chapters, so that's a relief. Anyway, yeah, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

**READ, ENJOY, and REVIEW!**

ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH

"Chacon."

At Harrison's deep voice, Trudy awoke with a start, all senses painfully aware, prepared to spring into battle if Harrison tried to accost her. "Yeah?" she asked, the word scratchy, her throat still sore from Harrison attacking her. She swallowed, and glanced in his direction, finding comfort in the fact that his muscled frame strayed no further into the sleeping quarters than the doorway. Already her mind was going over several ways to react if he did venture further into the room.

"We leave in twenty." His voice was cold, robotic, distant, and she found comfort in that detachment. He didn't bother to wait for a reply as he turned around and headed towards the waystation's main room, and she pulled her blanket up to her chin as she stared up at the bunk above her own. Against her will, the terrifying memory of his hands wrapping around her neck with the strength of steel bands revisited her for the umpteenth time, and she shuddered. If that attack had been real…shaking her head and gritting her teeth, she sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Twenty minutes…even less now. She almost mindlessly rewrapped her ankle, changed her socks, and pulled her boots on, barely even noticed the aches and pains that twinged all over her body. She was just too flipping tired to care. She knew she'd care once they started moving, but damn. Right now she just had to _concentrate_ on moving.

Once she was sure everything was where it needed to be, she entered the main room as well, looked up, and froze. Harrison's six-foot-two figure was backlit by the communications center, the light perfectly framing his well muscled form. If she had to guess, he probably weighed between 190 and 200 pounds, and damn if she couldn't see any bulges made by fat. Harrison was all muscle, and even after all that happened, all that he had done to her, there was an undeniable and animal attraction to him that she couldn't deny. However…there was still that fear of him, though that fear was severely tempered by the knowledge that he didn't want to hurt her and that she was perfectly prepared to kick the living crap out of him if he _DID_ try anything.

She shook her head, and turned her attention to the center table, where more gear than they had arrived with was laid out on its surface. Rucksacks, military rations, extra canteens, ammo, weapon cleaning kits, an inordinate amount of what looked like socks, and a few pair of extra clothes. "If you want to get a different weapon, I left the arms vault open." She looked up into his face to confirm that she heard him, and froze. His dark brown eyes were dull and glassy, and his face was haggard, the beginnings of a beard coming in, and his previous high-and-tight hair cut beginning to grow out. He didn't look like the confident and scary soldier she had met the day of the battle. Now he looked like a worn out and beat up veteran of way too many wars.

"Are you sure you want to leave today?" she blurted, unable to help herself. If he felt anything like he looked, he was just about ready to drop over dead from exhaustion. He didn't answer her verbally, and for a moment, she wondered if he had heard her, but he picked up a frighteningly large sniper rifle and gave a terse nod. She sighed, but didn't argue. Lord only knew that if Harrison made up his mind, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. "When are we leaving?"

His eyes screwed shut, an almost painful look overtaking his face, and he fished a bottle of pills out of the pile on the table. She recognized them immediately, energy pills for soldiers on long engagements who aren't able to sleep. He popped two of them, chasing them down with water before gesturing at the table. "Once you are ready and we're packed up."

"I'm happy with the weapon I've got," she retorted, and walked over to the rucksacks, quickly picking one and filling a waterproof bag with the smaller pairs of clothes the were on the table. The next moments were spent in silence as the two packed, the first few moments tense as Trudy almost expected Harrison to make a move. When he didn't, she slowly began to relax. She noticed Harrison taking the heavier items, and she didn't protest. She might have before experiencing the Pandoran jungles, but now she knew what it was like moving with just an assault pack with the bare minimum equipment. Now they needed to both carry enough supplies for a week. She cursed silently. Things were more compact now than it had been for grunts in the 21st century, but that only did so much. As she pulled on an armored vest ("We don't know what we're going to bump into, better safe than sorry…") and hoisted the bulky pack onto her back, she fought the urge to whimper. It wasn't light, and they hadn't even left yet. Nonetheless, Harrison moved to the door like he was carrying nothing more than the clothes on his back, even though he had the larger ruck. No words were spoken between them as they stepped into the airlock and the air became denser and more humid as the chamber grew acclimated to the Pandoran atmosphere. The ready light flashed green, and they were through the door, Harrison rushing towards the woodline, Trudy stumbling to try and keep up with him.

The moment they entered the thick jungle he dropped, sliding to a halt, sharp eyes scanning both the clearing from which they came from and also the jungle around them. Trudy dropped down beside him, and tried to concentrate on the terrain and not on her aching knees, her pounding heart, and her hurried breaths. They remained still for ten whole minutes before Harrison finally stood and offered her a hand. She hesitantly took it, and he hauled her to her feet, but this time his hand did not linger. Feeling both sad and relieved at that fact, she silently hiked her rucksack higher on her shoulders and set out after Harrison, whose head was on a swivel, just like it always was. She had been on Pandora long enough to know that their luck was quickly running out, and they would bump into more than wounded Na'vi or lost humans sooner rather than later. She checked her submachine gun, making sure that it was charged and ready to fire, though now her weapon was on safe. She was too tired and likely to make a mistake to cause an accidental discharge, and she knew it. Instead, her finger rested on the fire selector switch at all times. If anything seemed out of place, she'd be switching it to fully automatic as fast as she could, but she didn't want to send a hail of bullets through Harrison's back. That was just bad form.

Realizing that she was starting to lose it, she shook her head firmly, and pressed onwards, eyes constantly scanning the jungle around her for movement. It was going to be a long, long day. She knew that soldiers, especially infantry, were used to going on long marches, it was simply a part of their training. Besides PT tests taken in indoor complexes with climate control (which was damned convenient for two mile runs, really) she was used to flying everywhere. She stepped over a log, pausing to wipe sweat from the back of her neck. A flurry of movement on the left flank caught her eye, and her weapon snapped up, only to track some harmless monkey-like creatures jump from tree to tree. Nothing else was disturbing the peace of the day, though she quickly swept both flanks with a careful eye, just in case, but there was nothing out there, at least not yet. With a huff, she continued forward, only taking the shortest of moments to appreciate the beauty in the foliage surrounding her. Pandora really was a breathtaking moon, albeit an extremely dangerous one.

Thus the day continued. This time Trudy knew not to push herself too hard, and they took breaks every hour to eat a few power bars and hydrate like fiends, not to mention taking regular piss breaks. Through it all, she made sure to keep an eye on Harrison, who was noticeably fatigued. Even his normally predatory movements through the jungle were jerky and erratic. Yeah, he was still stealthier than she was, but he was making WAY more noise than he usually did. She couldn't know that it wasn't just his stealth that was affected, she couldn't know that he had to concentrate on simply moving, that he was using every ounce of his formidable will to not just collapse and pass out. She couldn't know that she was going to save his life and change the way that they saw each other from this day onwards. No, all she knew right at that moment was that if she focused on her surroundings, she could pay less attention to the aches and pains in her body, especially once she got a rhythm going. She felt stronger, more empowered, the terror of the crash and the days immediately following after it fading as she remembered once more that she was THE Trudy Chacon, best damn pilot on Pandora, and a kickass lady second to none. Yes she still hurt, but dammit if she couldn't push through the shit and get back to safety, wherever safety happened to be.

She kept this upbeat mentality going for the next two hours, and was even humming happily to herself as she ate a power bar during one of their breaks, removing the exopack that also served as a helmet, which was kinda annoying, because she knew even without a mirror that her hair was getting really messed up. But it could possibly save her life, and her hair was sweaty already, so who gave a crap? Still holding her breath, she crammed half the bar into her mouth before replacing the 'pack, sealing and clearing it as she chewed vigorously. She enjoyed the boosts of energy that the power bars provided, but damn if she didn't want to eat a hearty meal. Still chewing, she glanced at Harrison, who was dozing lightly. She'd give him thirty minutes. Not the best, but they couldn't take all day. Her dark eyes flicking over the terrain, she finally swallowed. _I wonder just how far we've travelled so far…it's been six hours, so maybe ten kilometers? Harrison will probably know._ Preparing to take her 'pack off to finish the bar, she froze. Call it a mixture of woman's intuition and instinct formed by years of piloting, but a sense of _DANGERCLOSE!_ prickled over her skin like a wave of ice water, and she dropped the power bar, her hand flying to her gun. Later, she wouldn't be able to say what had tipped her off, though it could have been the way the shadows were hitting the rainforest floor or maybe the distant rustle of leaves that didn't match the rhythm of the jungle around her. Whatever it was, something told her that her life was in danger, and she had to act NOW!

If she had been new on Pandora, she might have wasted time looking around at ground level, but she had been on the surface long enough to hear stories about how the Na'vi preferred being higher than their prey. They rode Banshees, being above ground level offered some protection against beasties such as Thanators, and being higher off the ground gave their bows more power and range. So instead of scanning around her like a newbie jackass, her submachine gun came to her shoulder, and she looked up. There were two Na'vi that she could see, all armed with bows. For the first few heartbeats, she felt relief so potent that she almost fainted. Na'vi. Safety. They be able to get escorted back to Jake, and everything would be okay. "_Oel ngati kameie_!" she shouted, her inexperienced tongue mangling the sentence and the exopack muffling it, but it was still a recognizable call of greeting. The Na'vi flinched, and then did the unthinkable. Her heart plummeted like a stalling Samson as she watched one of the two Na'vi place an arrow on his bow and draw it, aiming down at them. They didn't recognize her? The thought flew through her mind with all the grace of a bullet. "Shit," she breathed, and her world dissolved into chaos.

The next few moments were a blur. "HARRISON!" the cry came, ripped from her throat, adrenaline heightening her senses almost to a painful degree. She was not afraid, but she was shocked and angry that this was happening. Why were they attacking? Her mind ran through the computations and she instinctively knew that they would take out Harrison, the larger and more dangerous looking target that was still laying down, therefore easier to hit. She was moving before she realized it. "Stop!" she shouted, her eyes fixing on Harrison's shocked face, as the Na'vi fired, the heavy twang reverberating through the air, and a stunning impact right between her shoulder blades, followed by the sensation of a warm liquid spreading across her back. "Oh, shit!" she hissed at the suddenness of the strike, the pain that was radiating from her back, and the numbness that was quickly following the pain. "I don't want to die!" These words were cried out, fear and pain lacing them with heart-wrenching emotion. Her world spun as Harrison shoved her off of him, the sniper rifle appearing in his hands as though by magic. He roared something unintelligible, and fired. Trudy had heard many weapons being fired on Pandora, but never this sniper rifle. Pistols made harsh popping noises, rifles barked and burst, but this rifle emitted a heavy thudding crack, a fireball blossoming at the end of the barrel as the shockwave of the heavy round reverberated through her body. There was a harsh scream above them even as Harrison cycled the bolt and fired again, the empty shell casing from the first bullet landing next to her head.

"Chacon! Trudy, are you okay?" Harrison bellowed, and Trudy blinked for a moment, wondering if his voice shook out of fear for her or out of exhaustion. No time to dwell on that! Now that the shock of the impact was over, she realized she felt fine, there was no real pain.

"Harrison, I'm fine," she answered as calmly as she could as her nerveless hands found the quick release tabs and managed to pull them. Rolling out of the ruck's harness, she glanced down, and found the source of the liquid on her back: the Na'vi arrow had ruptured one of the water jugs she had been carrying. Amazed that she was feeling so calm, she rolled her shoulders and picked up her submachine gun. Noticing Harrison aiming back up into the overhead, she spat out a curse. "Harrison, no, we can't! They can lead us back to safety!"

"If by safety you mean certain death, then sure!" Harrison snapped back at her before grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the miniature clearing they had been resting in. "How many of them are there?"

"I only saw two…if I can get them to recognize me, we should be safe!" she insisted.

Harrison's only reply was to grab her by the front of her armor. "Open your fucking eyes, Chacon! They don't see you, nor will they! They only see two human targets, humans who tried to destroy their entire way of _life_! Right now it's do or die, and I don't want to die!" He shoved her back, and by some miracle it was just at the right time, for an arrow buzzed through the air where she had been standing before sinking into a tree. "MOVE!" Harrison roared, and this time she didn't argue.

Instead, she ran, following Harrison. Heart heavy, she fired a burst into the trees above them, hoping to drive the Na'vi off, not kill them. A sentiment not shared by Harrison. He paused, aimed up and let off a shot. Immediately following the heavy bullet was the sound of something crashing through the branches above them and a Na'vi warrior fell through the trees to land fifteen feet away, body flopping like a puppet with its strings cut off, and Trudy could see why. The Na'vi's skull looked oddly deflated, the hard bone shattered from the passage of the large sniper round, and for a split second she stared at the body, transfixed by the sight of blood and brains leaking onto the jungle floor, eyes that were once bright gold now a dull yellow, the spark of life having left them. Trudy couldn't help but pause for a second, marveling at the nauseating scene before her. A few days ago, she had been the ally of the Na'vi, and nearly died fighting for them…now, she was helping to kill them. The irony astounded her, sickened her, and she fought the urge to throw up.

An arrow sang by her cheek, and she was moving again, spinning hard and aiming up, this time seeing the Na'vi who had just fired at her. She let off another burst, her weapon rattling, but she didn't hit the Na'vi. The next few minutes were mind-numbingly terrifying, her breaths coming in hard pants as she and Harrison ran from tree to tree, and all she could do was react to the stealthy hunter far above them. Finally, she could see the tall blue form leaping away through the trees, and she collapsed against a tree, panting, the exopack slowing her breaths, making it harder to get her wind back. "Is…it…over?" she gasped, submachine gun held limply in one hand.

"I wouldn't count on it," Harrison replied, his face haggard and drawn as he too leaned against a tree only five feet away. He, too, was breathing hard, almost as hard as she was, and she wondered if that was a measure of just how tired he truly was. "Now she'll shift tactics and-" another arrow snapped into Harrison's tree, just above his shoulder and missing his flesh by a scant inch. The arrow was nearly parallel to the ground and showed that the Na'vi had joined them on the jungle floor. "Fuck!" Harrison hissed as he slid down, the sniper rifle coming up before he fired. The barrel ended a scant foot from Trudy's head, and the weapon's report was deafening. She screamed in agony as a bolt of pain jolted from her ears to her brain, and her hands flew to her ears far too late for the first shot, though in time for the second. She shook her head and yawned once the pain faded, trying to clear the ringing that suddenly dominated her hearing but nothing she did seemed to help.

"Harrison!" she shouted, though it sounded like her mouth was full of cotton, muffling the sound so that it was barely recognizable. He didn't answer as he went into a reload, but he looked up in anger before dropping the rifle and jumping away from the tree just in time to dodge a knife strike from the Na'vi. Before the female warrior could turn around and see the tree that Trudy was leaning against, Trudy brought up her submachine gun and emptied the magazine into the female Na'vi's back, blood spurting into the air with each bullet impact, flesh tearing and bone visibly shattering. The warrioress dropped with a scream that Trudy barely heard, and Trudy turned to figure out where Harrison had gone off to, if he was still okay…if he was still _alive_.

He was, but he was fighting a tall and muscular Na'vi male who must have come late into the fight, attracted by the sounds of gunfire. What other reinforcements would be coming, then? The Na'vi warrior was armed with a knife the length of Harrison's lower leg. Harrison had his own knife out, the razor sharp steel looking like a toothpick in comparison to the weapon the Na'vi was hefting. Added was the fact that the Na'vi was twice as tall as Harrison and probably three times his weight. Trudy hurriedly reloaded as the Na'vi kept swinging at Harrison, denying him the chance to draw his revolver, and Trudy wondered how the sergeant had managed to draw his knife in time. "Fuck!" she snapped as her shaking hands dropped the fresh magazine, and she bent to pick it up, hands fumbling for the box that could well save Harrison's life. There was a bellow of pained rage that she heard even through her momentary deafness, and she looked up, fearing the worst. Her fears were assuaged as she watched Harrison complete a combat roll that had sent him in between the legs of the Na'vi warrior, giving him the opportunity to strike against a weak point: the femoral artery. He hadn't wasted the chance, and the Na'vi was bent over, hands pressed over a long and deep gash, blood flowing from the wound like water, occasionally spurting from the cut. Even if the native killed Harrison, he would bleed out.

Trudy finally grabbed the magazine off the jungle floor and jammed it into the weapon, snapping the bolt forward and sending a round into the waiting chamber before sending three rounds into the Na'vi's side. Harrison took advantage of his adversary's shock by rolling under the Na'vi's legs again and whipping his knife against the Na'vi's hamstrings, crippling the warrior. However, Harrison didn't recover enough, and the Na'vi still had enough control and strength enough to grab Harrison and throw him into a tree. The sergeant slammed into the tree with bone jarring force, and Trudy could hear his yelp of pure agony as he slid down the tree before landing at its base. "HARRISON!" Trudy sshouted, voice shrill in shock as she immediately sprinted for his crumbled form, ignoring the crippled and dying Na'vi. A mistake. She was more concerned with the well-being of the man who was possibly her only way to safety now that she was killing the Na'vi. Later she would realize just how sad it was that her concern for Harrison sprang more from selfish interest than from worry for his well-being. He was her ticket to safety, and not much more…

She slid to a halt next to Harrison and grabbed his shoulders in a panic before her self-control asserted itself. She had first aid training, she knew what to do. "Harrison, can you hear me?" Her only response was a groan, so he wasn't alert, but he was alive and responded to verbal cues. Not great but not bad. He was still breathing, and his pulse was fast but steady, normal for running around in a combat situation for ten minutes. She was just about to check for any bleeding when his eyes snapped open. Before she could say anything, his hand flew down to his hip and drew his Wasp Revolver before resting his firing elbow on her shoulder and squeezing off four shots.

There was the thud of a large body hitting the floor, and silenced reined in the jungle. After a few tense moments, Harrison finally spoke. "Never…leave…an enemy…alone until…he isn't breathing!" he rasped, chest heaving with the strain of the fight that had finally ended. However, she could see relief in his eyes, even if it was hiding behind steely determination. All fear of him fled her at that moment, and she couldn't help the sob that was torn from her throat, eyes tearing up as she threw her arms around Harrison. Elation at surviving the Na'vi attack and the joy at finding Harrison relatively unharmed overwhelmed her, and she found herself crying, though she didn't know _why_. As sob after sob shook her, Harrison grew less and less tense, and eventually he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back comfortingly as she cried, surrounded by the silence of death.


	9. Tears of Humanity

**AN- Woot, so it didn't take as long to update this as I thought it would. This chapter signifies the beginning of the end, and everyone can expect maybe one chapter more, maybe another if I decide to do an epilogue. This begins right where the last chapter ended, so reading the last one might not be too bad of an idea. As per the request of a reviewer, the swearing has been cut down a bit, a curse word showing intense emotion of importance or the like. As with all previous chapters, this one is longer than the chapter that came before, building up the the finale as it were. Hopefully all of my faithful readers will enjoy this one, and I'm going to go study for my looming finals now. Thanks all!**

**READ, ENJOY, AND REVIEW!**

TEARS OF HUMANITY

Harrison sighed as he held the sobbing Chacon. His back was throbbing from where he had struck the tree, and his lower back felt wrenched, but other than that he was okay. Chacon seemed unharmed, which was a relief. Now all he had to do was be patient. In the end, she stopped crying sooner than he expected. She pulled away from him, eyes red and swollen, her cheeks red with embarrassment. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me…I don't usually fall apart like that," she said with a small laugh, her eyes darting, looking anywhere but him.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. Even though he was tired, he could easily see the way her hand tightened as her arm relaxed, prepared to strike in self-preservation at any moment. Remembering the searing pain that she had justly inflicted on him after her had 'attacked' her, he made no further moves. "It's alright…actually, I'd be concerned if you didn't start crying. I can't tell you how many times I've broken down after a mission, crying just as hard if not harder than you were. You've been stressed for the past week, and this is simply your body releasing that stress…it's completely normal, not a sign of weakness. I've seen the biggest, toughest, meanest guys cry like babies after missions easier than what we're on. Don't be ashamed." He paused, relieved to see understanding blossom in her dark eyes and some of the tenseness to leak out of her shoulders. "Now, come on, all that gunfire will have attracted attention, and we need to be as far from here as possible."

Her eyes flicked over to the fallen Na'vi, and a noticeable wave of sadness flitted over her face. Out of nowhere, anger seized him. "They aren't your friends anymore," he snapped before he could stop himself. "Without your pretty face paint and jumpsuit, you look like any other human that they want to kill! Hell, how many of the Na'vi actually saw your face? How many could truly recognize you? Jake? Maybe a few other of the high command? Certainly not the rank and file, Chacon! Never forget that now they aren't enemy soldiers, they are now merciless hunters that would slit your throat if they could. We got incredibly lucky…next time we won't be so lucky."

"You are an asshole," she bit out, each word weighted and deliberate, shrugging his arm off. "Every one of them I kill makes me feel like a murderer, even if they would gladly murder me. I'm so sick of the killing, even if you live off of it!" She stood, anger sparking in her eyes. "You're lucky I need you, or else I'd tell you to fuck off and die, prisoner or not."

Harrison clambered to his feet, ignoring the dozen pops that radiated from his spine and major joints. He didn't say a word, just glared at the spitfire pilot that was easily matching his stony stare. "We need to leave. Now." Without another word, he turned and limped towards their gear. Two reasons. There were only two reasons he didn't do as she wanted and disappeared into the woods. Firstly, she was his prisoner, and he was responsible for her. Secondly, he needed her help to survive. He couldn't make the march on his own, as much as it annoyed the hell out of him to admit it. He was beginning to miss the shocky pilot he had first picked up. Nonetheless, he couldn't forget that she saved his life. He really did need her. To his relief, she did start to follow him, albeit muttering darkly under her breath. He ignored it. Her anger could be used. She needed to be sharp, concentrated, and if her anger at him helped her achieve that sharpness, she could be pissed all she wanted. He turned his head, glancing back at her, and sure enough, her eyes weren't locked on him but darting over the surrounding jungle. She would have made an excellent ground pounder…

No more was said between them as they moved through the thick foliage back to their packs. Spotting the puddle of water surrounding Chacon's pack, he felt his lips tighten in displeasure. He knew that Chacon had saved his life by jumping in the way of the heavy Na'vi arrow, but dammit if water wasn't as valuable as bullets in the hot and humid Pandoran climate. A reminder of that fact, a sweat drop rolled down the side of his face. Still…if Chacon hadn't been there…he shivered, skin crawling at the thought of being skewered by one of those arrows. Still, now that things had calmed down enough, he went over the fight, an after action review of sorts. He had rushed his first shots, missing when he should have hit. Seeing Tru…_Chacon_ get hit had made something within him snap, as much as he was ashamed to admit to himself. He had let his fear and anger get the better part of him, and did not reach the quiet, cold place within him that had allowed him to make the most difficult shots possible. Because of that, he had put both Chacon and himself into great danger by prolonging the fight far longer than it should have. It was all his fault, and he could have watched Chacon get killed because of it.

Mindlessly, he crouched, pulling the heavy pack onto his back and standing, ignoring the new pains that he had gained during the knife fight against the Na'vi male. _That_ had been one of the scariest and most drawn out moments of his life. A Na'vi was strong enough to get into a fight with an AMP suit and possible win, or so the rumor went. If the fight had been one-on-one, he would have died. If he had been a split second slower on his combat roll, he would have died. So many more little things that could have gone just a _little_ bit different, and the knife that had a blade the size of his forearm would have torn him asunder like he was made of wet toilet paper. He hadn't even tried to block the Na'vi warrior's attacks, and instead had concentrated solely on dodging, and even after the warrior had been shot and had his femoral artery severed he had still managed to pick him up and throw him like he was a toy. Another shiver ran through him and his stomach clenched as he remembered the terrifying feeling of flying through the air before the jarring impact against the tree. Thank God he had woken up in enough time to engage the Na'vi berserker before he had managed to kill Chacon or him.

"Harrison?" Trudy Chacon. His prisoner. His savior. What the _fuck_ was he doing?

"Yeah?" He kept his voice flat, unemotional.

"Where are we heading now?" He glanced her way, then stopped, staring. What did this diminutive, spit-fire of a woman mean to him? He could clearly see the sweat streaks on her face, even through the exopack, and she swiftly rolled up her sleeves past her elbows as she undid the flaps on her rucksack before removing and casting aside the water jug that was cracked in two from the force that had been exerted upon it not twenty minutes ago. Even with the body armor and armored exopack hiding her feminine figure, she was attractive, and he knew that it was less and less because she was the only female around and more and more because she was a determined and capable individual who matched him in spirit if not in skill. She wasn't a blood-thirsty mercenary here solely for the money and for the chance to kill, she still had a soul.

"We're heading where we have always been heading," he answered monotonously, turning his eyes from hers, hiding his attraction for her as best he could. It was not love, he knew. It would never be love. Physical attraction, yes. Admiration for her spirit and tenacity, yes. But love? He laughed bitterly to himself. He couldn't love anyone, not after all that he had been through. And Chacon…she would never love him. He'd be surprised if she didn't hate his guts. However, if she offered her body to him again, whether out of gratitude or something else, he'd take her up on it. "We've gone eleven kilometers as the Banshee flies, and we should be able to get another seven done today, if we're lucky. We're making good time, Chacon. We should be able to make it back to Hell's Gate in maybe a week."

She shouldered her ruck. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

He glanced at his holomap to get the right direction, and stepped off. He listened as Chacon fell in behind him, and then concentrated on the jungle around him. He didn't know what stroke of divine luck had given Chacon the chance to notice the Na'vi before they attacked, but he knew that it would not happen again. The Na'vi would read the signs of the previous encounter and compensate, and not give them the chance to notice them before it was too late. Probably hit them at night or very early in the morning. He knew without a doubt that if they did encounter a Na'vi scout party, they wouldn't survive. The laws of probability were stacked against them too severely. There was no help out here. There was only death, in all its different forms. He paused on top of a fallen tree, his eyes scanning the colorful and exotic plants around him, and his heart wrenched. Such a beautiful moon, with so much to offer, and he was going to die here. He continued forward, a wry grin twisting his lips. How fitting. After all the hells he had seen, after all the places he had fought at, and he was going to die in the most beautiful of them. Too bad it would be a largely unknown death, his name, rank, and social security number being ranked amongst those Missing In Action. No one would know the fate of Sergeant Harrison. Even though there was no one on Earth who would care about his passing, the obscurity of his inevitable fate saddened him more than he cared to admit.

His hand came up, and rested against the bark of a small tree, its foliage a bright red, resplendent in color, celebrating life that was so hard to come by. How many years had he spent in cryo? He didn't even remember anymore. Thirty? He knew he looked great for his legal age, but thinking about how many years old he was made his head spin. His mother and father were both single children, and he had been their only child before his father became mad, though he had always been mad. A lonely, frightening childhood, but he didn't have to endure his siblings aging before he did. If he had ever married, he could very well be a great-grandparent by now, but that had never come into existence. He had always been alone, save for his subordinates and superiors. Never an equal, at least not until now. Now, where rank meant nothing and teamwork meant everything. Without the other, he and Chacon would have died much sooner. Indeed, some small part of him held onto the delusion that they just _might_ make it. Passing by a Helicoradian patch, he poked one with the barrel of his rifle, and the plants shrank into themselves with that amusing '_shoop_' and he couldn't help but smile. Earth was once like this, maybe not as dangerous, but now it was a technological nightmare, filthy and disease ridden. Shaking his head, he focused more on the dangers in the environment and less on the beauty, though his tired soul wanted to bask in the colors and sounds of a world not fettered by human hands. It was difficult to ignore the beauty, but he did it. Thoughts of Chacon screaming in agony as death found her provided all the motivation he needed.

Several hours later dusk had fallen, and his eyes searched for a place of safety for them to hunker down for the night. He had been lucky before, but he wasn't finding any hollow logs thus far. Cursing softly to himself, he turned around and shot Chacon an apologetic look. "Looks like tonight is going to be exciting. Four hour guard shifts. If you see or hear anything wrong while on shift, wake me up. Hell, if you even get the slightest bad feeling, get my sorry rear outta the sack, 'cause you have good intuition, and I respect that like you wouldn't believe! I know you hate me right now, but I…" he paused, unsure how to continue. "I am glad I met you, and I don't think I would want any other soldier with me on this journey, and…I wish that we had met earlier. I would have been damn proud to have you as a subordinate, even as a superior officer."

Chacon stared at him with eyes that were visibly wide open, even in the failing light. Then she scoffed. "That sounded like a eulogy, Harrison. You expect me to die or something?"

It was a joke. He knew it was a joke. She was trying to hide her discomfort with her wit, something she had done many times before, probably far longer than he had known her. But at the same time, he couldn't help the blaze of emotion that overtook him. "No!" he snapped, hand darting out and seizing her shoulder. "No matter what happens to me, no matter _what_, you need to survive. I'm just a dumb grunt, but you…" he paused, and didn't continue this time. "Just be sure to make it back to Hell's Gate. It will have been captured by Sully by now. You know how to use a holomap, so if I fall, you can use mine."

"Harrison, you aren't going to die!" Her voice was harsh, angry. "If anything, you'll drag my sorry butt across the finish line 'cause I passed out again or something, but you aren't going to die! Stop talking like that, you're creeping me out." She pointed to a tangle of roots at the base of a tree. "It looks like that is secure enough, if we have someone awake at all times. Come on, let's go." With an irritated huff, she hiked her pack higher and set off at a brisk pace. "I get first watch!" she called over her shoulder.

He stared after her before smiling and shaking his head. She was right, he was being an idiot. Just because he got the unshakable feeling that things were going to end poorly very shortly didn't mean that they would. He was acting very unusually, and he recognized that. Must be the tiredness finally truly setting in, and he was infinitely grateful that Chacon was taking the first shift. He knew full well he wouldn't have been able to stay awake if he had had first watch. Again, he was struck by the realization that Chacon probably could have made a fine infantry officer. She certainly had the spunk for it, and now she was developing the eye for it. He followed her into the tangle of roots, and sure enough there was enough room for quite a few men to sleep comfortably. She was already dropping her ruck and getting some food, her weapon within reach, and her head looking out into the jungle every few moments. He felt safe. For the first time in quite a while, he felt completely safe leaving his life in the hands of another person. Without any other worries, he dropped his rucksack near Chacon's and sat down, wearily leaning up against it and closing his eyes for a sweet, sweet moment. However, he still had things to do. He sat back up, and quickly took off his boots and changed his socks. Already falling asleep, he ate an energy bar as fast as he could. The moment that was done, literally right after he swallowed the last mouthful, he dropped back and passed into oblivion.

Moments later, it seemed, he was being shaken awake by Chacon. "Five hours have passed, been quiet, I hear Viper Wolves, but they still seem to be quite a ways off." He grunted. He felt like he had been hit by a Samson, but at the same time, he felt more alert, more rested. Both he and Chacon probably wouldn't be truly rested until everything was over, one way or the other, but even only five hours was enough for him to start functioning as a human and a soldier again. He sat up, joints popping as he began to move again. He quickly pulled his boots back on, lacing them quickly and efficiently and then slithered out of the maze of roots until he was out into the comparatively wide open jungle. A thin mist hung above the ground, and it was raining, the moisture adding to the humid heat rather than taking some of it away, and he started sweating now that he wasn't lying still.

Chacon was right, he could hear the yelp, barks, and howl of Viper Wolves off in the distance, and it sounded like they were gradually drawing closer in the darkness. He frowned, the tactical part of his mind whirring away, analyzing the lay of the land around their temporary safe haven. There were too many avenues of approach. He didn't have any anti-personnel mines, though he would give an arm for some right now. He wasn't a Viper Wolf by any means, but the game trail looked like it ran through there, and they approached through that break in the foliage…he turned around and peered up the roots. That could work. Slinging the rifle behind his back, he grasped the thick roots in his hands and clambered up them, finding ample footholds in the gnarled wood. Within moments he was sitting several meters above the forest floor, with a three hundred sixty degree view of the area around the tree. If something tried to approach the position, he would be ready.

And ready he was two hours later. His eyes had completely acclimated to the not-quite-darkness of the Pandoran night, and while he hadn't fallen asleep (God forbid the idea) he knew different ways to pay attention to his surroundings while resting at the same time. When the first dark shape came slinking through the low brush, circling the clearing inquisitively, he was aware. "Chacon!" he called out, voice loud but calm as he lifted the heavy sniper rifle to his shoulder. If it wasn't his voice that woke her, then it was the sudden burst of the very distinctive and frightening cackle that the Viper Wolves started to make, the noise completely surrounding them. He heard her moving around beneath him, and she came out of the tangle before climbing up next to him.

"Viper Wolves can climb," she said, her hands tense on her submachine gun. He didn't answer, instead aiming through the large scope, which had already been dialed down to the lowest magnification. The Viper Wolves were only about one hundred meters away at the farthest possible distance that he could see them through the trees, and even then they were only darting shadows, nothing to shoot at. The clearing itself ended a mere fifty meters out. Full breath in, half a breath out. A snarling mouth leading to a bony head leading to a muscled neck leading to a- _**kaBRAM**_! Instinct, reflex, and a perfect sight picture had all lead to the same thing: ten-and-a-half pounds of pressure to the trigger, sending the firing pin into the bottom of the waiting shell, the blasting cap igniting the waiting gunpowder, sending the waiting .400 bullet down the barrel and down range at several thousand feet per second. Through his scope he saw the impact and sudden writhing of doomed flesh even through the sudden blur of recoil, a lethal hit. He cycled the bolt, slightly rusty from years of no practice but still fast as hell, and the shell cartridge popped out, flying into the illuminated Pandoran night, faintly ringing. Before it hit the root floor that he was perched upon, the next bullet was chambered and he was already on the next Viper Wolf, charging him and Chacon, teeth bared and snapping. Again, he fired. Head shot, body tumbling from both the forward momentum of the creature and the force of the bullet striking bone, flesh, brain, and blood.

Again. Again. Again. Reload. Chacon firing controlled, aimed bursts with her weapon, announcing the need to reload as he drew the rifle back to his shoulder. Years upon years upon years at so many different ranges. No danger to him. Just mobile targets. A game. Don't let them closer than ten meters. Don't let them touch the tree. Five shots, never missing, ALWAYS taking controlled aimed shots. If you miss, you lose. How many dead? Ten for him, seven for the girl next to him? Noise, behind him, middle of a reload. Targets, climbed the tree behind him. Revolver, lay down the rifle, double handed grip, shooter's stance. Six shots, don't miss! Yelps, screeches of pain, the smell of blood. Eight targets in total, only hit five of them…speed loader, snap wrist to lock cylinder back in place. Three meters, quicker shots. One jumped…silly, targets don't _jump_! Three shots into the chest cavity of the target as it flew through the air, knocking it off target, and it bounced off the roots before sliding to a halt on the body littered ground. Targets fleeing now, but he can hear many more. It will be a long night. A sound. A voice? Was a range instructor trying to talk to him. Blink, man, clear the noise from your head!

"HARRISON!" Oh, yes, Trudy Chacon. Beautiful pilot. Spunky ground-pounder. Slowly he came out of the daze.

"What?" His voice was calm, but he could feel just how hard his heart was racing for the first time. A noticeable film of gunpowder residue covered his exopack, and he hastily wiped it off.

She stared at him for a moment, eyes darting. "Now I am reminded why you are such a legend. You were like a robot, no emotion that I could see. I've never _seen_ shooting like that! You didn't miss a single shot!"

He frowned, gesturing to the Viper Wolves on the roots behind them, bodies resting wherever gravity had dictated. "I missed a shot with one of them," he argued, perturbed with himself. He hadn't missed a single target in a long time, Na'vi not counting. Elusive blue buggers.

She just stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. "You…scare me. In more ways than one."

He shrugged. "We aren't going anywhere while the Viper Wolves are still out there," he said, gesturing to the jungles around them, where they could hear but not see the remaining Viper Wolves. Funny. It sounded like they weren't just focused on them. What else could they be hunti-?

A burst of automatic weapon fire. Matsu? He cursed as the rifle flew to his shoulder again, peering towards the sound of the gunfire. Two hundred meters out? Now he was shooting at the darting shadows that were moving for the flanks of whoever was coming in. He wasn't sure of a single hit, but anything he could do to help any fellow humans out there…more than one individual, he could hear two weapons firing desperately, drawing closer very quickly. They must be running and gunning. "Chacon, keep your weapon at the ready. If it's Matsushita, I want you to shoot her on my mark. No negotiation, if I recognize her, I'm dropping her, so you don't have to worry about me being soft."

Behind him, she scoffed. "You, soft? As if." He ignored her. One hundred meters, he could barely see them now, and they were firing wildly into the jungle around them, keeping the Viper Wolves at bay, but only by the skin of their teeth. He spotted, engaged, and dropped a Viper Wolf that had been trying to get above them before dropping another that was trying to hit them on the flank, hard, low, and fast. The two humans vaulted into the clearing, and he could clearly see that they were both males. Troopers working for Matsu? Another shot aimed at a Viper Wolf before the scope settled on the terrified and exhausted faces of the two RDA troopers hauling ass towards them. Sergeant Shabazz and Private Robinson? The Viper Wolves finally peeled off, not entering the clearing where so many of their kind had already met their fate, howling and yammering their anger and frustration.

Huffing and puffing, the two troopers clambered up the roots, hands and feet slipping, showing just how exhausted they were. Sergeant Shabazz reached them first, collapsing next to Harrison, chest heaving and dark brown skin glistening with rain and sweat. "Only man…crazy enough…to use a sniper rifle!" he panted, a grin plastered on his face. Robinson dropped down next to the short but stocky sergeant, long and gangly limbs trembling with fear and adrenaline both. "_Damn_ good to see a friendly face again, Harrison!" Not even bothering to sit up, he tilted his face towards Chacon. "So…who's that?"


	10. Shattered Dreams

**AN- So, at almost a year, this story is completed, save for the epilogue and possibly a bonus chapter. I worked my butt off to get this chapter (7,328 words, 21 pages on MW) completed in time, staying up FAR past my bedtime in several instances so that I could have it ready by Christmas Eve. So here it is, my gift to you, my faithful (though oft silent) readers. Hope you have happy holidays, and you like this chapter. A few things to be noted: there is both graphic sex, and extremely graphic violence, as well as plenty of swearing with this one, all of these things justified in this being both the final chapter as well as the chapter portraying the final showdown. DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE! There will be a short note at the conclusion of this chapter, just to give you heads up. **

**So, without further ado, the last chapter of _Pandora Sucks!_ Read, enjoy, and please review! Reviews make such wonderful Christmas presents!**

SHATTERED DREAMS

Trudy sat a short distance away from Harrison and the other two RDA troopers, keeping watch while Harrison explained the situation. The two new men seemed more concerned and freaked out than angry, but she kept her submachine gun at the ready and an eye on the two of them just in case she had to defend herself. Any thought of the two troopers hurting her fled when the black one, Sergeant Shabazz, shot her a look. "No offense, Sergeant, but you two look even worse than we do. You should let us take the first watch. We were actually holed up in a nice little nook about half-a-klick away from here. Once we woke up hearing gunfire…well, we came running. Better to die with friends than live alone, I always say." He stood up, wiping raindrops from the face lens of his exopack. "Jackson, you got the other side. Radio check in every fifteen, don't fall asleep, you know the drill." The tall and lanky private nodded, and moved off, stepping carefully on the roots, weapon held at the ready, his head constantly moving.

Trudy tilted her head towards Robinson as Harrison made his way over to her. "One of yours?" she asked, voice scratchy. Man, she was tired as hell. Harrison only nodded in reply as he walked past her and slid down the roots to the ground, and she followed right after him. Moments later, they were at their rucks, pulling out foam mats and sleeping bags. She moved methodically, mechanically, not really thinking about it, too tired to care. So it came as a surprise when Harrison dropped his mat and bag right next to hers. She shot him a look, but he just shook his head. Sighing, she said nothing, but instead took off her boots and socks, and lay down on top of her sleeping bag. Right now she knew that if she tried to go inside the bag, she'd start sweating even more and be very uncomfortable. She'd go under once her body got cool enough. She had just drifted into a light doze when she felt Harrison shift next to her.

She ignored him…or at least tried to. Kinda hard to ignore someone when they tentatively draw you into a hug. "Okay, seriously, what's going on?" she snapped, annoyed now. She had almost, _almost_ fallen asleep. "If you don't answer I'm cutting your balls off with a dull stick." He chuckled at that, pulling her even further into his arms, and despite her words, Trudy didn't resist him. The memory of his faux attack seemed ages ago, and she'd go straight for his exopack if he tried anything stupid now. But there wasn't any violence or anger in the way he held her, just a steady warmth that she had missed, the warmth of another person's silent support. When was the last time she had been simply held, with no thoughts of having sex or for any other reasons but the comfort that an embrace offered?

"Just a feeling I've been getting," he murmured, answering her question. However, he did not elaborate, and she punched him in the chest with what little force she could, given the position they were in. He scoffed, obviously not hurt, and drew her even closer so that their torsos were touching and their legs tangled together. Now his warmth completely surrounded her, and she fought the urge to blush. Trudy Chacon did _not_ blush like a little schoolgirl. "A feeling of finality, that our journey is drawing to a close, one way or another." He paused, and the silence drew on. Trudy sighed and dropped her face into the crook of his neck, inhibited by her exopack. "Trudy…" he started again, and she froze. He just called her by her first name…he never called her by her first name! "I just want to say that you've done a great job, and I hope that at least you make it to safety. You deserve it."

Now it was her turn to scoff. "Come on, Harrison. What, are you trying to come on to me or something?"

She expected a lighthearted 'no' so it was unnerving when he didn't answer for a few minutes. "Would you…would you want to?"

Now she _was_ blushing, schoolgirl be damned. Harrison was attractive, and after what they had been through together, he seemed all the more attractive. She didn't doubt that it would be fun…she paused, listening hard. It sounded like the rain had picked up, coming down hard enough that if they stayed quiet, Shabazz and Robinson wouldn't hear them. Thankfully none of the rain got through the root system, so they should be able to remain relatively dry. Now, to return to the issue at hand. Did she really want to have sex with Harrison? The answer…was yes. Thinking about having sex with the tall and built sergeant was tightening her loins, and she fought the urge to whimper. No whimpering, not yet! She cleared her throat before speaking, but her voice was still low and breathy. "If you particularly want to, then why not? I still owe you one, I suppose. Just as long as you don't choke me out again, you ass."

He chuckled humorlessly. "I doubt Matsu can see us now, and even if she could, I don't care." And with those words, everything changed. They weren't just holding each other anymore. Now there was a charge in the air. When Harrison made no move, Trudy took the initiative, splaying one of her hands on his warm, broad chest. Even through the fabric of his jacket, he felt like a furnace, alluring in his warmth. His hand came up, and slowly cupped the side of her neck before running his fingers down her back, slowly, gently, tenderly, and her breath hitched in her throat. She knew that this was more a release of physical tensions than a demonstration of personal feelings, but the way his eyes hard darkened and the look on his face sent a tingle running through her, igniting her senses. She grasped his free hand and placed it on her chest, and his warm palm found and pressed against one of her breasts. She couldn't help the small mewl that escaped her, nor the way she arched her back, pressing his hand even closer, nor the way her breasts tightened. Maybe she had been more attracted to the tall, muscular sergeant than she had originally thought, she admitted to herself rather breathlessly.

All thoughts fled her head when the hand that had previously been running down her back grasped her rear and pulled her flush against him, pressing her against the evidence of his own desire, and she clutched his shoulders, wishing to all the world that they were still back in the waystation, where she could at least kiss Harrison without worrying about suffocating to death on a toxic atmosphere. She really, _really_ wanted to kiss him! "Harrison…" she breathed, and he rolled the two of them over so that his bulk pressed against her, possessive and protective at the same time, and she moaned, biting her lip to keep from getting too loud when his muscle-hardened thigh pressed in between her legs, putting wonderful pressure on the spot that was now aching for his touch.

"James," he murmured, and she blinked in confusion. "My first name is James." He rolled slightly off of her, and his hand replaced his thigh at the junction of her legs, and she whimpered, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as his fingers pressed upwards, rubbing her _there_. Even through the cloth of her pants and her underwear, it felt wonderful, and she was soon gasping as his fingers rubbed tight circles against her still clothed entrance. When she had given the go ahead to have sex, she had almost expected to go straight into bumping uglies, but she did not find it too surprising that Harri…no, _James_ was concerned about her pleasure as well as skilled at making her feel things she hadn't felt in too long.

"Oh, God!" she moaned as he pressed against her particularly firmly before rubbing against her almost frantically, startling in the speed, and it was enough to send her over the edge for the first time, and she grit her teeth, groaning and somehow managing to not scream by some miracle. In the panting haze that followed her orgasm, she was faintly aware of him unbuttoning her pants and slipping his hand into her underwear.

"My God, Trudy, you are wet down there," he murmured, a flash of male arrogance shining through in his eyes, and she tried to frown at him, but it was very difficult with the way his deliciously warm and calloused finger tips were dancing at her wet folds, and…unghhh! She groaned heavily and arched her hips up when he slipped one finger into her, and she panted at the feeling of his finger, deep within her, slightly stretching her out, preparing her for the thickness that was going to come later…that had better come, because if he stopped now, she would _kill_ him, consequences be damned! All thoughts of death and dismemberment ended when he added a second finger and began to idly pump them in and out of her slick tunnel. "I'm glad I haven't lost my touch," he grinned, though she could see a deep sadness hiding behind his eyes. Memory of a former lover? She's worry about that later. Now, she was more concerned with the wonderful pressure he was building within her with his fingers.

Then he curled his fingers while they were still in her and she couldn't help the cry of ecstasy that tore from her throat as his rough finger pads rubbed against a spot that made her see stars. Looping her arms around his neck, she pulled herself up and tight against him, almost crying with the waves of pleasure that tore through her. Encouraged by her actions, his fingers moved faster and faster, and the coil within her wound tighter and tighter until the dam broke, and everything exploded into pure pleasure. She wasn't sure if she cried out or not…she hoped not, but she could make no promises. Not when she just had a toe-curling orgasm. He withdrew his fingers, and she could see her wet release upon them, and she flushed even deeper as he wiped them off on a rag he quickly produced from his rucksack. She could only watch, languid from the aftermath of her release. He soon was unbuttoning his own pants, and soon she was staring at his penis, tip shiny with pre-cum, and she licked her lips as she shifted her hips. He was not small by any conventional standard…hell, by any standard that she knew of.

Expecting him to climb on top of her and ravish her into a very welcome oblivion, she was surprised when he lay down on his sleeping bag and pulled on her shoulders so that she was draped over his chest, their faces separated only by their exopacks. "Please, you be on top." Trudy froze, staring at him in surprise. The way he said it…he truly wanted her to be on top, in control, it wasn't just a favor that he was granting her. It was touching, and welcome. She threw her legs over him and reached into her pants and rearranging her underwear as he moved his shaft so that it was at the right angle. Biting her bottom lip, she lowered herself so that he was nudging her entrance. Taking in a deep breath, she dropped down fully, and they both groaned. He was big, but not big enough to hurt, for that she was thankful. Tentatively, she rocked her hips forward, reveling in the sharp of pleasure that followed after it. Soon, she was bouncing up and down, whimpering at the sensations assaulting her like a relentless and rising tide, bringing her closer and closer to release.

His hands found her hips, guiding her even though she was the one in control, and her hands dropped down to his shoulders as she leaned forward, breasts bouncing in her bra with each thrust. "Can't hold out much longer!" he hissed, and she only moaned in agreement. Barely three thrusts later, he grunted, teeth clenched and face red with exertion, and she felt him twitch within her as he seized her hips with fingers as firm as bands of steel as he drove as deep into her as he could. It was the sensation of his seed hitting her inner walls that sent her over the edge, and for the third time she orgasmed, this one even stronger than the last two. When she finally regained her senses, she found that she was lying on Harrison's chest, both of them panting hard and fast, still connected as he slowly began to soften within her. She rolled off of him, wincing slightly as he slid out of her. She ignored the twinge as she grabbed the rag he had used earlier, first wiping off her slit before giving the rag to Harrison so he could tend to his softening erection. Moments later, she was spooned against him, his arms clutching her possessively as they both drifted into the best night of sleep they had so far on this taxing misadventure. Neither of them dreamt.

The next day, they were moving hard, trying to cover as much distance as possible. With more mouths to feed, what food that she and Harrison had brought with them wouldn't last as long, and Shabazz and Robinson hadn't ever made it to a waystation, so the food that they had recovered from other soldiers and crashed Samsons was almost out. However, they were more than halfway back to Hell's Gate and whatever waited for them there. They had crested the proverbial hill. It was all downhill from here. Not only that, but she was happy. A little sore in her hips, but happy nonetheless. She could almost describe the way she felt as happily languid. She was happy even after Shabazz's knowing grin she got when they broke camp. So what if he knew? She hopped over a small stream, wincing slightly at the movement. Oh, she couldn't WAIT until all this was over. The beauty of Pandora's terrain was losing its allure now, and she really truly missed the metal halls of Hell's Gate. She would kill for a real bed, that was for certain.

She looked left and right, spotting the others in their respective positions of the modified fire team wedge that they were travelling in. Harrison had point, with Robinson on his left rear flank. She was on the right, just about parallel with Robinson, and Shabazz was on her right, maybe five paces back from where she was. She shot him an annoyed glance as he crossed the stream and began to make it up the short but steep slope the water had cut into the ground over who knew how long. Do a quick sweep back to Harrison, and-

His arm was up, his hand unclenched, fingers spread wide. Stop and take cover. Immediately she took a knee and raised her arm, copying the hand signal. Had he seen something? She looked back to Shabazz to make sure that he saw the sign just as he crested the ridge, puffing slightly. He saw her, nodded, and began to take a knee. There was a whine, crack, and the sound of glass shattering, and Shabazz jerked backwards, screaming, hands flying to his exopack, blood spraying the inside of the now shattered mask, red leaking through the spider web cracks as his body disappeared over the lip of the small ravine. "Oh, God!" she yelped, immediately dropping all the way to the ground as bullets began to fill the air and peppering the ground around her, kicking up dirt and stone. She slithered backwards to the stream and rolled down the embankment. Now that she was behind a comforting bulwark of earth, she crawled over to the now still Sergeant, her hands and knees kicking up sheets of water as she moved.

He lay half submerged, blood staining the water red, tendrils of the bloodied water making way down stream, and she fought the urge to throw up at the way his body twitched sporadically. He was dead, and even if he wasn't, with a broken exopack he wasn't going to last long anyway. Unable to stop herself, she peered into his mask, looking away and gagging at the sight of caved in flesh, bone and brain matter clearly visible. She could only pray he didn't feel any pain. Unable to do anything else for the dead RDA trooper, she pulled his rifle away from him, quickly slinging her submachine gun behind her back as she grabbed desperately for the two grenades he had in pouches on his ballistic vest even as the sound of gunfire didn't diminish. She didn't know how long until the enemy forces assaulted forward, but it wouldn't be long. The sound of splashing water behind her had her whirling around and brandishing Shabazz's rifle, which she noted was sticky with his blood in a small and semi-hysterical corner of her mind, one that she ignored for right now.

It was Harrison and Robinson, Robinson holding a bloodied arm, face white but determined. "There's at least eight of them, four are keeping us pinned in this creak while the other four move around! I saw them moving to our left, upstream from here, so we need to haul ass right the fuck _now_!" Harrison snapped, face tight with rage. "It's Matsu!"

"No shit!" she snapped back, already crawling further downstream, the two of them following her lead. "The water curves to the right up ahead, so we might be able to make a stand up-!"

A concussive wave cut her off, deafening her, disorientating her as a ringing seemed to split her head, and she collapsed, coughing. The blast had been close enough that it had knocked the wind out of her, and she shook her head, red water dripping from her exopack mask, and she realized with horror that she was lying down in the water that Shabazz was bleeding into. Scrambling to gain her footing, she spun and began to wildly fire into the trees and bushes that lay behind them, unable to hear the curses that their pursuers were shouting as her bullets flitted amongst their numbers. Her rifle ran dry, and she cast aside the weapon, retrieving her submachine gun. "Harrison, Robinson, report!" she shouted as loud as she could, trying to ignore the dizziness that had overtaken her.

Instead of a report, Harrison came running down the stream, dragging a severely wounded Robinson behind him, ignoring the bullets flying around his head, angry white and yellow hornets that sought his flesh to pierce. "Help me!" he shouted, and though Trudy couldn't fully hear what he said, she could read both his lips and the desperation in his eyes. She stood, grabbed Robinson under his armpit, and the three off them ran as hard and as fast as they could. By some miracle, they rounded the curve in the creak, and unceremoniously dropped Robinson as Harrison stood up and began to fire aimed shots down towards where their attackers were. Trudy saw to Robinson, ignoring the burning in her legs and arms as well as the way she sucked in huge breaths of air. Again, she had to fight the urge to vomit. The young private was crying, tears pouring down his ashen cheeks as he grit his teeth through the pain. And what pain he had to be in. Both his legs were shattered and oozing copious amounts of blood. Trudy swallowed heavily as she looked him in the eyes, tears gathering, helpless and angry.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, shaking her head, hating her weakness and hating those that did this to Robinson. They would pay! "Oh, God, there's nothing that I can _do_!"

"I know!" Robinson half growled, half sobbed. "I'm only slowing you down, please…!" He stiffened, writhing with an agony that Trudy couldn't comprehend. "Please," he begged, crying out, "just get outta here! Gimme some grenades, I'll buy you some time!" His hand reached out and snagged Harrison's ankle. "I been hit in th'gut 'n legs, sar'nt, I'm a dead man. Gimme grenades, and I'll surprise 'em fer sure!" He stopped writhing, and instead began to breathe heavily. "C'nt feel nuthin' n'more, go'an, git!"

Her hands fumbled into the cargo pocket where she had stuffed Shabazz's two grenades, and handed them both to the private, and he smiled like he had been given the best toy on Christmas Day, a tear sliding down his cheek even as blood ran from the corner of his mouth towards his ear. "Thanks, pretty lady, now could you prop me up so I'm facin' th'sunsabitches?" He was no longer crying, though she was openly sobbing as she repositioned him and handed his rifle to him. He shot her another calm, happy smile, no doubt miles into shock by now, and Trudy could only stare at him as Harrison grabbed her by her armor and nearly lifted her off her feet, getting her moving again. The last Trudy ever saw of Private Robinson was him sitting in the muddy, bloody water, one hand stroking his rifle as his other hand patted his grenades, a vacant smile on his lips as his legs bled into the water.

Then she had to turn and run down the deepening ravine, watching where she was stepping. They couldn't have been more than fifty paces away when the volume of gunfire picked up substantially, followed by the two thunderous booms of grenades detonating. She wanted to turn around, and head back, but then there was more gunfire, followed by a deathly silence. She swallowed bile as Harrison clambered up the side, and she followed him up the slope and to a small cluster of trees. He dropped to the prone and peered down the scope of his rifle, and she crouched down, weapon held at the ready. By now her hearing had cleared up enough that she could hear voices and movement further out. There! She saw movement, and then a silhouette, and brought up her gun to engage, but Harrison beat her to it, his rifle roaring out in anger, and she watched with a deep sense of satisfaction and an ugly joy as the man dropped, squirming in the way that something squirms prior to death. A lethal hit.

The rest of the enemies stopped being so loud and obvious after that, and Harrison fired four more times at quivering bushes and possible targets, and Trudy fired a few bursts as well, but there were no screams signifying that he had made a hit. He cursed as he rolled fully behind his tree and went into a reload. "Trudy, watch the flanks, I think they're-!"

A hail of gunfire from their right, and a baseball bat strike to her shoulder, spinning her around and knocking her down, though by some grace she managed to keep a grip on her weapon. "Fuck!" she howled as she tightened up into a ball, bullets dancing around her, sending dirt and stone and wood stinging into her unprotected flesh. Six revolver shots from much closer, Harrison returning fire with the one weapon that he had available to him. All too soon, however, his revolver went silent, and things grew quiet all around them, save for her cries of pain. However, she couldn't give up, not after Shabazz and Robinson. Gritting her teeth, she shifted to her knees, and then clambered to her feet, knees shaky, breath coming in gasps from the effort. It was at that moment that Matsushita and two other RDA troopers emerged from the line of brush that they had been concealed in. "You _bitch_!" Trudy snarled. "I'm going to cut out your heart and fucking _eat_ it!"

"Trudy, get out of here, now!" Harrison snapped as she took a step towards the three of them, and she shot him an incredulous look. "They're here for _you_, I'll hold them off!" To prove his word, when one of the two men with Matsu ran towards her, Harrison rushed him, drawing his knife as he ran. Before he could get to the charging man, Matsu tackled him, hard, and the two went tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. She stepped forward to help him, but the ground before her erupted in a spout of mud, a shot ringing through the air.

"Run, little missy, or I'll kill you like I killed that snot-nosed ki-!" Before the smug prick with the rifle could finish his taunting threat, Trudy had turned, aimed, and squeezed the trigger, hosing the man down with lead, not caring when her submachine gun ran dry…not caring until the last man standing let out a howl of rage before charging her, jumping over the still struggling Matsu and Harrison. Shocked at the pure hatred in the man's eyes, she turned and bolted, dropping the submachine gun, knowing it would only slow her down. She wouldn't be able to reload while running before he'd catch her, but without its extra weight, she might be able to outrun him.

Run she did. Great, leaping strides, as nimble as a deer, moving in a wide circle, but despite how fast she was pushing herself, she could hear him catching up, heavy booted feet pounding into the jungle floor behind her, drawing closer with each searing breath. He finally caught her right when she was leaping over a fallen log. "He was my best friend!" the man roared with pure hatred running through his words, and she could _hear_ him launch himself through the air before catching her in a tackle, driving the wind from her lungs as they crashed into the ground. She tried to shake past the stars that had exploded across her vision when her head bounced off the ground and scramble away to try and find something to fight with, but to no avail.

The man's hand latched onto her ankle with the strength of a steel band, squeezing hard and wrenching her back towards him, something in her ankle popping at the great pressure he was exerting, and a new wave of pain swam nauseatingly through her body. Before she could even scream or throw up, he was on top of her, screaming profanities and striking at her with all his strength, one blow knocking her exopack askew, and her lungs began to burn as the Pandoran atmosphere began to scald her lungs. There was a small pause in the attack, and through the pain and the shock and the dizziness she saw a glint of razor sharp steel. He had a knife. Her arms surged up just as his surged down, and she managed to stop the blow. Not for long. Her arms were already shaking with exertion, and she felt him press down and down and down, only a few more inches and the pain would be over, it would be so easy just to relax, and…NO!

Using his own strength against him, Trudy used his arms as leverage as she scooted further down in between his legs, the knife burying into the ground where her head used to be. Before he could rip the knife out of the earth, Trudy's hand found a target: the man's testicles. She grabbed them both, and squeezed as hard as she could before twisting and pulling until she felt one pop like a grape. The man screeched, all thoughts of stabbing her undoubtedly fleeing from his mind as he threw up in his exopack, and Trudy pushed up and rolled over so that _she_ was the one on top. Her hand found and pulled the knife out of the ground before driving the honed steel into the crook of his neck, tip aimed towards his heart. He gurgled, red mixing with the green and yellow of his vomit as blood surged from his mouth, and he struggled for a few more moments, trying to breathe when breathing was impossible.

Speaking of breathing…Trudy readjusted and tightened her mask, clearing it before taking in a relieved breath. The man below her was still, and she could feel his body shift as certain muscles relaxed, and the corpse both shit and pissed. Thank God she couldn't smell that, thanks to her exopack. She rolled off of the cadaver, whole body shaking, and she couldn't help but lie like that for a minute or two. When would the stupid deaths end? Why did so many good men have to die? She felt no compassion for the dead man lying next to her, but Shabazz and Robinson seemed like good, honest men. Her throat tightened as she thought of Robinson. She wished that she had gotten the chance to get to know him better…but it was too late for such thoughts. Groaning, she rolled onto her stomach and slowly got to her feet, feeling as though she were a hundred years old. However, that didn't stop her from placing one foot in front of the other, moving towards where she had last seen Harrison, moving like a soulless zombie, but moving nonetheless. She needed to link up with Harrison. Now that Matsu was no longer a problem, everything should be so much easier to do. Now getting to Hell's Gate seemed like a real possibility, instead of just a-

"Well, I'm impressed, you managed to actually kill him. But can you kill me?" Heart sinking down to her toes, Trudy looked up to see Matsu approaching her, bloody knife in one hand, and…oh, God no. "I see you noticed my special weapon here. A Na'vi arrowhead…the neurotoxins stop the heart in what, five minutes? I got that orientation so long ago I hardly remember. I bet Harrison is trying his hardest to remember right now." She idly twirled the arrowhead in her hand, blood visible along its sharp edges. "I was originally planning on using this against you, but I'm not one to use a trick twice. I think I'm going to enjoy cutting you to shreds with Earth steel."

"Why not just kill him?" Trudy spat, rolling her shoulders and ignoring the blood still dribbling down her arm from the bullet wound. She was so hopped up on adrenaline it didn't even hurt, something she hoped would continue for the duration of the fight. "Why torture him?"

"He needs to suffer," Matsu sneered, tossing aside the bloody arrowhead, her knife spinning in her hands, switching from one hand to the other with practiced, effortless tosses. "He aided and abetted a traitor, sleeping with her, arming her, not even _arresting_ her. So, he needs to receive his punishment. Don't worry," she smirked, "I have the antidote to the neurotoxin. If you want Harrison to live, just give up and let me kill you, and he'll get the meds before his time is up. Or…" this time her grin turned evil, poisonous. "..or, you could kill me and give it to him yourself. Just remember, his time is running out."

"So stop talking!" Trudy snarled and leapt forward with a quick, diagonal slash. Matsu laughed and fluidly slipped back, dodging her blow. "Why won't you just die?" A quick jab forward, and Matsu stepped to the side, her unarmed hand snaking out and grabbing Trudy's wrist, blade flashing twice, two lines of burning pain cut into her skin before she released her wrist and danced back and dodged Trudy's backhand slash. The blood running down her arm in hot red rivulets sent alarms ringing through her head. Matsushita was a frightening in-fighter. Better than she was. Better than _Harrison_. But Harrison was running out of time. Should she just give up? Did Harrison mean enough to her that she would willingly let Matsu kill her?

The next few frantic, racing heartbeats were spent in a flurry of blows, knives flashing in the bright Pandoran suns as the steel sought glistening flesh as sweat and blood flowed freely. It might have been beautiful to watch, had the stakes not been so high. As Trudy stumbled back, a brief thought occurred to her as she watched Matsu skip back, still light on her feet despite the deep slash on her left forearm. She had deliberately taken the blow that _had_ been aimed for her right wrist. But, oh, if only things had been different. Matsu was flawed, so very flawed, but she would have been _fun_ to spar against had things not wound up the way that they had. They might not have ever become friends, but comrades-in-arms…it was too late for such thoughts. Now, she had to concentrate on the way her lungs burned from how hard she was breathing, the way she was now bleeding from four slashes and the bullet wound, whereas Matsu only had the one cut on her defensive arm. She had to concentrate on how both she and Matsu wore ballistic vests that protected their vital organs from a direct knife attack, turning the fight into an endurance match: who would bleed out faster? That was easy, her. Now the question was would she bleed out before Harrison died? Probably not. Leading to the prior question, did she care enough about Harrison to die for him?

…Yes. She would die for him. But not to _her_. Were it a death found by jumping in front of a random bullet or another such situation, she would lay down her life for Harrison…she would die for _James_ _Harrison_. But not to her. She couldn't let the woman in front of her win. She needed to pay for what she and her cronies did to Robinson and Shabazz. All these thoughts and more whirled through her head in the time it took for her to suck in another breath, and she watched as Matsu darted forward, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Giving one last desperate move her all, she too leapt forward and tried to stab low, the blade whistling through the air, the tip angling up at the last minute, darting for Matsu's crotch. Matsu hissed a curse and her arms dropped in a block that trapped Trudy's arm. Matsu ducked low and spun before surging upwards, jamming her shoulder into Trudy's armpit, and there was an odd, muffled pop, causing her knife to drop from her nerveless fingers as she screamed in pain, a pain that doubled as Matsu effortlessly flowed into a judo throw, the world spinning as Trudy flipped over her shoulder before slamming into the ground with a jarring crash. She coughed weakly as Matsu straddled her, and she tried to fight, swinging weak fists at Matsu, and was largely ignored as Matsu brought her knife high above her head. "Your ass is _mine_, bitch!"

The knife came down, and Trudy grabbed Matsu's wrist with both hands, but Matsu just smirked, dark eyes glittering with hatred. "That won't save you, Chacon. Nothing can save you, now. Now, you pay for rebelling against humanity and stealing the closest thing to a father that I've ever had on Pandora!" Matsu snarled as her other hand dropped on top of her wrist and the knife began to inch downwards, blood dripping from the cut on Matsu's arm and onto Trudy's exopack…her exopack. Exopack! Letting go with one hand, Trudy reached under the bottom of Matsu's exopack and tore it off her face with a scream of anger. Matsu gasped in surprise and rocked back, the hand with the knife in it reaching for her throat as she began to cough and choke. Black hair plastered to her sweaty face as she jerked to her feet and stumbled back, shaking her head as she tried to breathe in an environment that would not sustain her.

Trudy rolled to her feet and grabbed her dropped knife with her left hand and she ran forward, forcing her hurt arm into action, grabbing Matsu by the shoulder strap of her armor before dragging the razor sharp blade of her knife across her throat, cutting deep, severing the carotid arteries as well as her windpipe, and her blood sprayed out of the wound, coating Trudy's hand, arm, and exopack with the red, thick liquid. "And you pay for being a sadistic bitch!" she hissed, slamming Matsu's writhing body onto the ground before searching her pockets for the one thing that could save James. After only a few minutes of frantic searching, she found the auto-injector, and was up and running, images of James's face flashing before her eyes. He couldn't have much time left! It seemed an eternity later that she finally reached him where he lay on the ground, frighteningly still. She slid to a halt next to him, and was relieved to see that he was still drawing breath, but that relief was severely tempered by the fact that his face was a deep mottled purple, and his veins were severely distended. Cursing, she fumbled with the auto-injector, and the moment she had the protective cap off of the injector tip, she jabbed it into James's neck, the injector jerking slightly in her hands before hissing, and she only prayed that she had gotten to him in time.

She began to breathe easier when his breathing slowed and his skin began to gradually return to a more normal hue. Convinced that he was no longer in danger from _that_ particular threat, she searched him for other wounds. She found them quickly. A deep slash on top of his right hand, deep enough that she could see bone, and it looked as though some of his tendons had been severed, if not all of them in that hand. A tear in his left sleeve revealed the wound inflicted by the arrowhead, the stab deep, the flesh immediately surrounding the wound an ugly black color. But now that his heart wasn't going to stop in the immediate future, she bound both his wounds before seeing to her own injuries, figuring that they could figure out why his skin was black around the wound. Suddenly exhausted, she fell back onto her butt, and began to shake. She didn't know what else to do…she would wait until James woke up.

"Troodeechakone?" The deep voice came from behind her, and faster than she thought possible, she was crouched over James, teeth bared and knife drawn, still bloody from her fight with Matsu. A Na'vi male stood four meters away, hands held up in peace. "I come representing Toruk Makto, and have been tracking you many days and nights. Told to recover body from metal Ikran, but no body there. Instead sign of two people leaving. Trail hard to follow, especially after storms, but I find you. Told to take you to Sky People's base as soon as I find you or body. Toruk Makto will meet you there."

Trudy stared at the towering Na'vi who looked back her with an impassive face for a few seconds before breaking down and sobbing. After all the hell that she and James had been through, they could have waited at the downed Samson and been rescued without any of the terrible things that had happened happening. She didn't want to cry, and she felt weak as hell with each tear that coursed down her cheek, but she couldn't help it. Finally her tears subsided, and she shakily stood, gesturing down at the still unconscious James. "Fine, but he comes with me. No matter what, he comes with me, from now on." The Na'vi nodded, and strode forward before gently scooping up James.

"Follow me, Ikran is not far away." Muted with the overwhelming relief that coursed through her, Trudy tossed her bloodied knife onto the ground, glad to be rid of it, and of the need to carry a weapon. A few moments later, she was sitting behind the tall Na'vi on his Ikran, clutching his waist as they flew through the air. Hours later, they reached Hell's Gate, where Norm, Max, and several other scientists greeted them with shock and joy in equal measure even as they rushed James to the infirmary. The next day, Jake came to Hell's Gate, and scooped Trudy up into a great hug as his…wife?...watched them both, a soft smile on her lips. She personally walked him down to James's cot in the infirmary, where he was awake, though exhausted from everything that had happened. He acknowledged that he was a prisoner with no way to escape Pandora, and would not try to cause any individual harm, be they human or Na'vi, and Jake agreed that this was good enough for him. Harrison would not have to spend his time in a cold prison cell. Before he had fully recovered, Trudy had made sure to take a team of scientists and what few RDA troopers remained behind and recovered the bodies of Shabazz, Robinson, and Matsu, Matsu being a last minute addition more out of pity for the flawed Corporal than any sense of duty. All three were giving last rites and buried within the Hell's Gate compound, Shabazz and Robinson with marked graves, Matsu in an unmarked plot.

A week later, he was well enough to be released from the infirmary, and he made his way to where Trudy was staying. She had news for him. Their single night in the jungle had resulted in the unexpected: she was pregnant. He had blinked, then nodded, and then asked what she wanted him to do. Her reply was simple: be there for his child. Shit happens. The child was neither a curse nor a blessing, simply another step in their lives, the first human child to be born native to Pandora. They both knew full well that though one would gladly die so that the other may live, they were not in love, at least not yet. Both were happy with the deep friendship that they had both earned, even after their positions were reversed. Time could change that, especially after their child was born. Now they were content with their hard-won friendship. Now Trudy was the watcher and James was the prisoner, though neither would ever admit to as much. The only thing that either of them cared about was that they had started their trek through the Pandoran jungle together, and despite all odds, they had finished together.

Their tale would become a legend in Na'vi society, showing the tenacity of the Sky People, as well as their dedication, despite the horrors that their race was capable of committing. Sergeant James Harrison, Prisoner of War of the Omaticaya People, made sure to document the trials that he and Warrant Officer 2 Trudy Chacon went through, even managing to approximate the path they took through the use of the holomap he had had with him and the use of the base's computers, preparing for the inevitable human return. This documentation would be his first report to the human fleet, the first of many, for James Harrison was a man of duty, and his duty was not over yet, and would not be until the day he died. However, that was in the future, and now he could simply bask in the feeling of not only being alive but also of persevering through yet another great difficulty set before him. That was enough for him, as he knew it was enough for Trudy Chacon. Now, he would wait. All told, he would wait less time than expected, for the wrath of the humans was fast approaching…

**AN- So, the second author's note to this chapter. Yes. I _did_ just go there and have all that stuff happen, even that thing that you didn't expect. Yeah. You know what I'm talking about. All jokes aside, this fanfic was a pleasure for me to write, and I'm glad that I had such supportive and at times corrective readers helping me out and prodding me along when I needed it. I need your help one last time. With the last sentence and much of the upcoming epilogue suggests or will suggest, there is the possibility of a relatively non-canon sequel, one that will no doubt run completely away from the vision that James Cameron has for the next movie in the Avatar series. Same characters who will remain in character (to the best of my abilities, I am human and therefore fallible after all), as well as new ones that will hopefully blow you out of the proverbial water. However, with upcoming events in my collegiate and military life, I can't really make any sort of promise as to the frequency nor the consistency of the chapters in this hypothetical sequel. So now I have to ask you, my readers, a very important question: Do you want to see that sequel? If yes, then I will toil away to produce a masterpiece to astound you all, if your answer is no, I dare say that a great deal of time will be saved for everybody. Please review or send me a message with your answer. I would like to write this sequel, but not if it will not be well received. The lives of Trudy, Harrison, the Na'vi, and the oncoming human fleet rests within your capable hands. Choose well, reader, choose well.**

**_Oél ngáti kámeie!_**


	11. Epilogue

**AN- Well, here's my epilogue. Sorry it took so darn long to get this published, but I've got some really heavily writing intensive classes this semester. Nonetheless, I will work my hardest to get the next story started ASAP. I'm rather pleased with this story, as it's not loosely based on a movie's plot, this is all mine. Hopefully I'll be able to do the same with the sequel. And there will be a sequel coming, this epilogue is less of a wrapping things up and more of a bridging between this Pandora Sucks and the next story. Thank you for going on this journey with me, and I humbly ask that you join me for the next one.**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

EPILOGUE: WE'RE BA-AAACK!

Feet pounded upon the smooth decks of Hell's Gate's stretching corridors as Harrison ran his daily four miles, mind comfortably numb, barely paying attention to the few humans that he ran past, instead reveling in the way the corridors were nearly completely deserted. After eleven whole years of being stuck on Pandora, he had gone through an astounding number of phases. Boredom was followed by nervous listlessness was followed by cabin fever was followed by depression was followed by anger at his situation was followed by…well, needless to say, he went through a lot of hell over the long years. Now he imagined he was in the acceptance and 'zen' part of the whole shebang. He couldn't do anything to change his position, so accept it and move on. Write daily reports as he had for four thousand twenty-seven days in a row. Not that he was _counting _or anything. His feet slowed to a light jog, and then down to a fast walk as he entered the cavernous and echoing hangar, still filled with now mostly derelict aircraft. Where there would have once been the sound of heavy machinery, loud voices, and booted feet there was little more than the sound of old metal settling. If you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the dust floating through the air.

Ignoring the silence, he made his way over to the cage where all the weight lifting equipment was. As he slid onto the weight bench and began to pump iron, he let his mind wander, though not to the point where he was inattentive to the danger off bench pressing two hundred pounds of metal. That was one nice thing about being stuck on Pandora with nothing better to do, he was in the best shape he had ever been, thanks to spending day after day with little else to do besides practice his marksmanship and physical fitness. He had exhausted the extensive library that Hell's Gate boasted early on, at least in terms of the military classics. He had attempted to read some of the journals left behind and published by Dr. Grace Augustine, but they weren't quite in his area of interest, though he did acknowledge her brilliance in her respective fields. Finishing his first set of fifteen, he sat up, pulling a small towel from his waistband before wiping his sweaty face.

Movement caught his attention, as he watched Trudy and their daughter make their way into the hangar before moving over to the Samson that Trudy had claimed as hers. A brief smile touched his lips at the sight of his daughter bouncing along at the heels of Trudy. If anyone was responsible for keeping him from truly going insane, it was those two. He had tried to make friends with the hundred or so humans still on hand, but all the scientists didn't trust him for being a grunt, and what few SecOps troopers remained had placed him on a god-like altar, too good to be associated with. If it hadn't been for Trudy and Hannah, he probably would have stolen a Samson and flown off into the jungle and waited for something to eat him.

Hannah. Ten years old, and the shining star of nearly every human on the base, but no longer the only child. Other pairings had been made, but that didn't change the fact that Hannah was still the very first human to be born on Pandora, at least to the best of his knowledge, and considering how much time he had been here…still, humans had been on the moon for forty years now, surely at least _one_ child had been born there before Hannah. Regardless of whether or not she was the first to be born on Pandora, she was the first human to be born on a Pandora free of RDA's influence. He could still remember receiving the news of Hannah's conception like it was yesterday, though the event happened eleven years prior.

He had just been told by the medical staff that he was cleared to leave the hospital cot he had spent more than a week in, and he had stiffly limped his way down to Trudy's quarters, instantly messed up by just how empty the base seemed now that the vast majority of the humans had been kicked off the moon's surface. He was in pain the entire journey, his hand unwilling to cooperate and the still healing scab over the arrowhead wound throbbing with each heartbeat. But this was a journey he had needed to take. It had taken him twenty minutes to cover a distance that would have normally taken him ten, and he was sweating and breathing heavily when he finally reached the room with 'Chacon, T.' emblazoned on the door. He had knocked hesitantly, but when Trudy opened the door, her face brightened even as she finished drying her hair. She had just gotten out of the shower evidently, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top, arms covered in bandages, showing the pain she had endured to save his sorry rear.

She had guided him to a chair, and he sank into the seat with no small amount of relief, chest still heaving as he stretched out muscles not used to moving after so long in a bed. "You look like crap," she had said quietly while handing him a bottle of cold water, which he accepted gratefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly, I feel like I got into a wrestling match with a Thanator…and lost. Doc says I can't use my right hand until the job he did on the tendons heals up, and my heart feels like it's on fire. So, overall, pretty good. I'm in pain, so that means I'm alive," he had rasped out, and she had smirked a little, shaking her head.

"Well, I'm glad you can think like that, Mr. Optimism. Here's some more news that should cheer your disposition right up," she had said with a forced casualness, despite the way her entire body tensed. There was something about her tone and stance that made him turn his attention to her, despite the pain that flared all over his body from the move. "…in nine months or so, you'll have a new recruit."

He had frozen at that, shocked, heart almost stopping, and this time not because of a neurotoxin. Hands trembling, he blinked, clearing the corners of his eyes of the tears that had come out of nowhere. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded before clearing his throat several times. "I'm…going to be…a father?" he had managed to squeeze out. Trudy had looked apprehensive when she nodded, but he couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, emotions overwhelming him. _He_ was going to be a _daddy_? The world had tilted for him then, but he managed to barely keep his composure. "What…what do you want me to do?" He had asked that in a quiet voice, certain he'd openly start crying if he spoke in louder tones. He was going to be a _DADDY_!

"Well, first off, be there for the kid. I'm not going to shove you away because I got knocked up…it is as it is, and we'll face this together, okay?" Her calm, sensible tones had broken through what little resistance he had left, and a tear slid down his cheek as he smiled the largest grin he had ever smiled on Pandora. After all, who wouldn't be happy upon learning that they were going to have a child with someone they had been through hell with? Even now, he could remember that entire conversation word for word, and he doubted he'd ever forget, no matter how much time passed. Shooting Trudy and Hannah another fond glance as the two climbed over the Samson, Trudy no doubt quizzing Hannah on what did what on the craft, he dropped back and began another set. He still had another thirty minutes of intense upper body and core workout to burn through.

Two hours later he was in the base mess, listening to Hannah chatter on and on about the short flight she had taken with Trudy and a few of the scientists to visit Jake and some of the other Na'vi as they shared their lunchtime. He couldn't help the small smile that softened the hard lines of his face whenever he spent time with his daughter. She was just such a happy child, he couldn't help but have his mood lightened while in her presence. That's not to say that she was blind to the hard realities of growing up on Pandora. She spoke Na'vi better than he did, thanks to 'Uncle Norm,' could already pilot a Samson relatively well thanks to Trudy, and while she hadn't graduated to firing weapons yet, she was able to recite the different firing positions and helped him clean weapons after using the indoor firing range that Hell's Gate boasted. Maybe irresponsible of a parent to teach their children such things before they are even eleven years old, but Hannah was the product of Pandora, not Earth. She wasn't behind as far as Earth education was concerned, at least not yet, but as she grew older, he didn't doubt that she would fall behind, but that was no major surprise. After all, what good did basic Earth history do for a girl who only saw pictures and videos of a decaying planet?

"Hi, Mommy!" Hannah's bright words broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Trudy approaching their table with a tray, a smile on her face. He rose to meet her with a brief and chaste kiss. Just as he had expected all those years ago in the jungle, they had never really fallen in love. Their friendship was unrivaled and Hannah brought them even closer, and had they still been on Earth, they might have even ended up married, but it didn't change the fact that they weren't _truly_ in love. While Harrison didn't sleep with anyone else besides Trudy, he knew that she periodically took other partners, and he was okay with that fact. She was still his closest friend, someone he could go to whenever he had a problem. He was comfortable with what their relationship was. He just hoped that that friendship would survive the trying times that were doubtless coming.

They spent the next hour idly chatting and eating their meal together, a picture of normalcy on a moon where normal was hard to come by. If only it could last forever. It was the sound of incoming aircraft that first alerted them that something was amiss. He stared at Trudy for a breathless moment before they were both up and running for the windows, watching in shock as four flights of high speed fighters roared overhead, low enough that they rattled the windows. At that, they were joined at the windows by everyone else in the room, scientists gaping at the jets that were quickly taking up an overwatch flight, circling the base like carrion birds that had just found a dead animal. "Where the hell did _those_ come from?" one of the women yelped, but before anyone could answer her question, the jets were joined by ten Samsons and fifteen Scorpions that came in low, barely clearing the outer walls before splitting off to strategic locations.

Harrison knew what was happening. This wasn't an invasion, this was a raid. These wouldn't be your average RDA troopers, this looked bigger, more professional. His suspicions were confirmed when a Samson hovered over the Operations Center and a squad of black clad soldiers fast repelled out of the bird before breaching the tower. Within two minutes of first seeing the jets, the attacking force had control of the central nervous system of the base. Even while this was happening, all the other Samsons were doing the same thing at other vital points, the Armor Bay, the Avatar Compound, and a full four Samson dropped soldiers off at the Stereolithgraphy Plant. If they were hitting all those places…

He turned to face the doors just as they were kicked open and soldiers poured in, all dressed in the same black, newer looking armored exopacks with tinted visors making them look even less human. "Everybody DOWN!" "Down, on the floor, now!" "Harrison, James. Is there a Harrison here?" "Positive ID, retrieving package." Knowing what was happening, he jogged forward to meet the two soldiers moving towards him, covering him and all those behind him with their rifles. Once he was clear of the sparse crowd behind him that was quickly dropping to the ground, he dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head. Then they were on him, slamming him down on the ground, twisting his arms so that they were behind his back, securing them with flexicuffs.

"Mother's name!" come the heated shout.

He paused for only a second. "Arianna Hunter."

"Number!"

"One-niner-six-three."

"Package confirmed and bagged, moving out." An exopack slipped over his face, and they sealed it quickly. Then he was up on his feet, listening to the intercom belt out that any resistance would be met with lethal force, all individuals were advised to lay down on the floor, faces down, hands behind their heads, and legs crossed.

"Daddy!" A shrill scream, followed by the sound of small feet slapping against the floor.

"Trudy, keep her here and safe! I will contact you again! Don't worry about me!"

The intercom came to life again. "All personnel, brace for detonation. Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole!" There was a muffled roar, and he looked back out the window to see the Stereolithography Plant go up in flames. Now it couldn't be used to manufacture weapons for the Na'vi. They had already read his reports where he had said that Jake was arming the Omaticaya with firearms. They already _knew_. Ten minutes after the jets had first arrived, he was forcibly escorted outside, where a Samson was touching down in a quick dust off. In fifteen seconds, he and the rest of the squad were aboard the craft, and they were taking off, assuming an overwatch pattern for the teams still on the ground. Five minutes later, he watched as the ammunition stockpiles in the Armor Bay were demolished as all remaining soldiers were picked up. All aircraft were scrambling for altitude, and soon they were flying away from Hell's Gate at ever increasing speeds.

"What the hell was that?" he shouted over the stuttering roar of the Samson's rotors, and one of the soldiers with a lieutenant's bar leaned towards him.

"Our mission was to retrieve you and destroy any weapons fabrication abilities the natives might have," the soldier shouted back, light voice revealing the trooper to be female. "We aren't RDA, they no longer have jurisdiction over Pandora. This is now an all military operation. We're taking you to our base out in the plains!"

He nodded, and leaned back in his seat, ignoring the discomfort of the flexicuffs, knowing that they were necessary, simple protocol. "Who'm I going to be debriefed by?"

"General Treleaven. He's got full operational clearance for this one. Whatever he says, goes. He'll be meeting you the moment we get back, so you'd better have your story straight, Sergeant!" He didn't bother responding, and instead looked out at the passing Pandora jungle. In a few hours it would turn into plains, and beyond that lay the human base. Why hadn't any of the Na'vi noticed it? How did they managed to get fighter jets here? What was going on? Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts and relaxed. All questions would be answered. He just needed to be patient. Hell, he'd been patient for eleven years, what was a few more hours? With that final thought, he closed his eyes, and promptly willed himself to sleep.


	12. Important Note!

**AN- Okay, just adding in a quick little note here to say that the sequel is now updated. The first chapter is a little dry, but it covers a lot of important details, and introduces new characters. The second chapter should have more action, as I'm sure you'll realize upon finishing the first chapter, but that's neither here nor there. Hopefully everyone who reads this will check out the sequel, and hopefully you'll enjoy it. Cheers!**


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